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Title: Utopia of Usurers and other Essays

Author: G. K. Chesterton

Release Date: April, 2000 [EBook #2134] [This file was last updated on

February 22, 2003]

Edition: 11

Language: English

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Utopia of Usurers and other Essays

by Gilbert Keith Chesterton

CONTENTS

A Song of Swords

Utopia of UsurersI. Art and Advertisement

II. Letters and the New LaureatesIII. Unbusinesslike Business

IV. The War on HolidaysV. The Church of the Servile StateVI. Science and the Eugenists

VII. The Evolution of the PrisonVIII. The Lash for Labour

IX. The Mask of Socialism

The Escape

The New Raid

The New NameA Workman's History of England

The French Revolution and the IrishLiberalism: A Sample

The Fatigue of Fleet StreetThe Amnesty for Aggression

Revive the Court JesterThe Art of Missing the PointThe Servile State Again

The Empire of the Ignorant

The Symbolism of KruppThe Tower of Bebel

A Real Dancer

The Dregs of PuritanismThe Tyranny of Bad Journalism

The Poetry of the Revolution

A SONG OF SWORDS



"A drove of cattle came into a village called Swords; and was stopped by the

rioters." — Daily Paper.

In the place called Swords on the Irish roadIt is told for a new renown

How we held the horns of the cattle, and howWe will hold the horns of the devils nowEre the lord of hell with the horn on his brow

Is crowned in Dublin town.

Light in the East and light in the West,And light on the cruel lords,

On the souls that suddenly all men knew,

And the green flag flew and the red flag flew,

And many a wheel of the world stopped, too,When the cattle were stopped at Swords.

Be they sinners or less than saintsThat smite in the street for rage,

We know where the shame shines bright; we know

You that they smite at, you their foe,Lords of the lawless wage and low,This is your lawful wage.

You pinched a child to a torture priceThat you dared not name in words;

So black a jest was the silver bitThat your own speech shook for the shame of it,

And the coward was plain as a cow they hitWhen the cattle have strayed at Swords.

The wheel of the torrent of wives went round

To break men's brotherhood;You gave the good Irish blood to grease

The clubs of your country's enemies;you saw the brave man beat to the knees:And you saw that it was good.

The rope of the rich is long and long — The longest of hangmen's cords;

But the kings and crowds are holding their breath,

In a giant shadow o'er all beneath

Where God stands holding the scales of Death

Between the cattle and Swords.



Haply the lords that hire and lend

The lowest of all men's lords,Who sell their kind like kine at a fair,

Will find no head of their cattle there;But faces of men where cattle were:

Faces of men — and Swords.

UTOPIA OF USURERS

I. Art and Advertisement

I propose, subject to the patience of the reader, to devote two or three articles

to prophecy. Like all healthy-minded prophets, sacred and profane, I can only prophesy when I am in a rage and think things look ugly for everybody. Andlike all healthy-minded prophets, I prophesy in the hope that my prophecymay not come true. For the prediction made by the true soothsayer is like the

warning given by a good doctor. And the doctor has really triumphed whenthe patient he condemned to death has revived to life. The threat is justified at

the very moment when it is falsified. Now I have said again and again (and Ishall continue to say again and again on all the most inappropriate occasions)

that we must hit Capitalism, and hit it hard, for the plain and definite reason

that it is growing stronger. Most of the excuses which serve the capitalists as

masks are, of course, the excuses of hypocrites. They lie when they claim philanthropy; they no more feel any particular love of men than Albu felt an

affection for Chinamen. They lie when they say they have reached their position through their own organising ability. They generally have to pay mento organise the mine, exactly as they pay men to go down it. They often lie

about the present wealth, as they generally lie about their past poverty. But

when they say that they are going in for a "constructive social policy," they do

not lie. They really are going in for a constructive social policy. And we mustgo in for an equally destructive social policy; and destroy, while it is still half-

constructed, the accursed thing which they construct.

The Example of the Arts

Now I propose to take, one after another, certain aspects and departments of

modern life, and describe what I think they will be like in this paradise of plutocrats, this Utopia of gold and brass in which the great story of England

seems so likely to end. I propose to say what I think our new masters, themere millionaires, will do with certain human interests and institutions, such

as art, science, jurisprudence, or religion — unless we strike soon enough to



prevent them. And for the sake of argument I will take in this article the

example of the arts.

Most people have seen a picture called "Bubbles," which is used for theadvertisement of a celebrated soap, a small cake of which is introduced into

the pictorial design. And anybody with an instinct for design (the caricaturistof the Daily Herald, for instance), will guess that it was not originally a part ofthe design. He will see that the cake of soap destroys the picture as a picture;

as much as if the cake of soap had been used to Scrub off the paint. Small as it

is, it breaks and confuses the whole balance of objects in the composition. Ioffer no judgment here upon Millais's action in the matter; in fact, I do not

know what it was. The important point for me at the moment is that the picture was not painted for the soap, but the soap added to the picture. And the

spirit of the corrupting change which has separated us from that Victorian

epoch can be best seen in this: that the Victorian atmosphere, with all itsfaults, did not permit such a style of patronage to pass as a matter of course.

Michael Angelo may have been proud to have helped an emperor or a pope;though, indeed, I think he was prouder than they were on his own account. Ido not believe Sir John Millais was proud of having helped a soap-boiler. I do

not say he thought it wrong; but he was not proud of it. And that marks

precisely the change from his time to our own. Our merchants have reallyadopted the style of merchant princes. They have begun openly to dominate

the civilisation of the State, as the emperors and popes openly dominated inItaly. In Millais's time, broadly speaking, art was supposed to mean good art;

advertisement was supposed to mean inferior art. The head of a black man, painted to advertise somebody's blacking, could be a rough symbol, like aninn sign. The black man had only to be black enough. An artist exhibiting the

picture of a negro was expected to know that a black man is not so black as he

is painted. He was expected to render a thousand tints of grey and brown andviolet: for there is no such thing as a black man just as there is no such thing

as a white man. A fairly clear line separated advertisement from art.

The First Effect

I should say the first effect of the triumph of the capitalist (if we allow him totriumph) will be that that line of demarcation will entirely disappear. There

will be no art that might not just as well be advertisement. I do not necessarily

mean that there will be no good art; much of it might be, much of it already is,very good art. You may put it, if you please, in the form that there has been a

vast improvement in advertisements. Certainly there would be nothingsurprising if the head of a negro advertising Somebody's Blacking now adays

were finished with as careful and subtle colours as one of the old and

superstitious painters would have wasted on the negro king who brought giftsto Christ. But the improvement of advertisements is the degradation of artists.



It is their degradation for this clear and vital reason: that the artist will work,

not only to please the rich, but only to increase their riches; which is aconsiderable step lower. After all, it was as a human being that a pope took

pleasure in a cartoon of Raphael or a prince took pleasure in a statuette ofCellini. The prince paid for the statuette; but he did not expect the statuette to

pay him. It is my impression that no cake of soap can be found anywhere in

the cartoons which the Pope ordered of Raphael. And no one who knows thesmall-minded cynicism of our plutocracy, its secrecy, its gambling spirit, itscontempt of conscience, can doubt that the artist-advertiser will often be

assisting enterprises over which he will have no moral control, and of which

he could feel no moral approval. He will be working to spread quackmedicines, queer investments; and will work for Marconi instead of Medici.

And to this base ingenuity he will have to bend the proudest and purest of the

virtues of the intellect, the power to attract his brethren, and the noble duty of

praise. For that picture by Millais is a very allegorical picture. It is almost a prophecy of what uses are awaiting the beauty of the child unborn. The praisewill be of a kind that may correctly be called soap; and the enterprises of a

kind that may truly be described as Bubbles.

II. Letters and the New Laureates

In these articles I only take two or three examples of the first and fundamental

fact of our time. I mean the fact that the capitalists of our community are

becoming quite openly the kings of it. In my last (and first) article, I took thecase of Art and advertisement. I pointed out that Art must be growing worse — merely because advertisement is growing better. In those days Millais

condescended to Pears' soap. In these days I really think it would be Pearswho condescended to Millais. But here I turn to an art I know more about, that

of journalism. Only in my ease the art verges on artlessness.

The great difficulty with the English lies in the absence of something one maycall democratic imagination. We find it easy to realise an individual, but veryhard to realise that the great masses consist of individuals. Our system has

been aristocratic: in the special sense of there being only a few actors on thestage. And the back scene is kept quite dark, though it is really a throng offaces. Home Rule tended to be not so much the Irish as the Grand Old Man.

The Boer War tended not to be so much South Africa as simply "Joe." And it

is the amusing but distressing fact that every class of political leadership, as itcomes to the front in its turn, catches the rays of this isolating lime-light; and

becomes a small aristocracy. Certainly no one has the aristocratic complaintso badly as the Labour Party. At the recent Congress, the real difference

between Larkin and the English Labour leaders was not so much in anything

right or wrong in what he said, as in something elemental and even mystical inthe way he suggested a mob. But it must be plain, even to those who agree



with the more official policy, that for Mr. Havelock Wilson the principal

question was Mr. Havelock Wilson; and that Mr. Sexton was mainlyconsidering the dignity and fine feelings of Mr. Sexton. You may say they

were as sensitive as aristocrats, or as sulky as babies; the point is that thefeeling was personal. But Larkin, like Danton, not only talks like ten thousand

men talking, but he also has some of the carelessness of the colossus of Arcis;

"Que mon nom soit fletri, que la France soit libre."

A Dance of Degradation

It is needless to say that this respecting of persons has led all the other parties

a dance of degradation. We ruin South Africa because it would be a slight on

Lord Gladstone to save South Africa. We have a bad army, because it would be a snub to Lord Haldane to have a good army. And no Tory is allowed to

say "Marconi" for fear Mr. George should say "Kynoch." But this curious

personal element, with its appalling lack of patriotism, has appeared in a newand curious form in another department of life; the department of literature,

especially periodical literature. And the form it takes is the next example I

shall give of the way in which the capitalists are now appearing, more andmore openly, as the masters and princes of the community.

I will take a Victorian instance to mark the change; as I did in the case of the

advertisement of "Bubbles." It was said in my childhood, by the more

apoplectic and elderly sort of Tory, that W. E. Gladstone was only a FreeTrader because he had a partnership in Gilbey's foreign wines. This was, no

doubt, nonsense; but it had a dim symbolic, or mainly prophetic, truth in it. Itwas true, to some extent even then, and it has been increasingly true since,that the statesman was often an ally of the salesman; and represented not only

a nation of shopkeepers, but one particular shop. But in Gladstone's time, even

if this was true, it was never the whole truth; and no one would have endured

it being the admitted truth. The politician was not solely an eloquent and persuasive bagman travelling for certain business men; he was bound to mixeven his corruption with some intelligible ideals and rules of policy. And the

proof of it is this: that at least it was the statesman who bulked large in the public eye; and his financial backer was entirely in the background. Oldgentlemen might choke over their port, with the moral certainty that the Prime

Minister had shares in a wine merchant's. But the old gentleman would have

died on the spot if the wine merchant had really been made as important as thePrime Minister. If it had been Sir Walter Gilbey whom Disraeli denounced, or

Punch caricatured; if Sir Walter Gilbey's favourite collars (with the design ofwhich I am unacquainted) had grown as large as the wings of an archangel; if

Sir Walter Gilbey had been credited with successfully eliminating the British

Oak with his little hatchet; if, near the Temple and the Courts of Justice, oursight was struck by a majestic statue of a wine merchant; or if the earnest



Conservative lady who threw a gingerbread-nut at the Premier had directed it

towards the wine merchant instead, the shock to Victorian England wouldhave been very great indeed.

Haloes for Employers

Now something very like that is happening; the mere wealthy employer is

beginning to have not only the power but some of the glory. I have seen inseveral magazines lately, and magazines of a high class, the appearance of a

new kind of article. Literary men are being employed to praise a big businessman personally, as men used to praise a king. They not only find political

reasons for the commercial schemes — that they have done for some time

past — they also find moral defences for the commercial schemers. Theydescribe the capitalist's brain of steel and heart of gold in a way that

Englishmen hitherto have been at least in the habit of reserving for romantic

figures like Garibaldi or Gordon. In one excellent magazine Mr. T. P.O'Connor, who, when he likes, can write on letters like a man of letters, has

some purple pages of praise of Sir Joseph Lyons — the man who runs those

teashop places. He incidentally brought in a delightful passage about the beautiful souls possessed by some people called Salmon and Gluckstein. I

think I like best the passage where he said that Lyons's charming socialacaccomplishments included a talent for "imitating a Jew." The article is

accompanied with a large and somewhat leering portrait of that shopkeeper,

which makes the parlour-trick in question particularly astonishing. Anotherliterary man, who certainly ought to know better, wrote in another paper a

piece of hero-worship about Mr. Selfridge. No doubt the fashion will spread,

and the art of words, as polished and pointed by Ruskin or Meredith, will be perfected yet further to explore the labyrinthine heart of Harrod; or compare

the simple stoicism of Marshall with the saintly charm of Snelgrove.

Any man can be praised — and rightly praised. If he only stands on two legs hedoes something a cow cannot do. If a rich man can manage to stand on twolegs for a reasonable time, it is called self-control. If he has only one leg, it is

called (with some truth) self-sacrifice. I could say something nice (and true)about every man I have ever met. Therefore, I do not doubt I could findsomething nice about Lyons or Selfridge if I searched for it. But I shall not.

The nearest postman or cab-man will provide me with just the same brain of

steel and heart of gold as these unlucky lucky men. But I do resent the wholeage of patronage being revived under such absurd patrons; and all poets

becoming court poets, under kings that have taken no oath, nor led us into any battle.

III. Unbusinesslike Business



The fairy tales we were all taught did not, like the history we were all taught,

consist entirely of lies. Parts of the tale of "Puss in Boots" or "Jack and theBeanstalk" may strike the realistic eye as a little unlikely and out of the

common way, so to speak; but they contain some very solid and very practicaltruths. For instance, it may be noted that both in "Puss in Boots" and "Jack

and the Beanstalk" if I remember aright, the ogre was not only an ogre but

also a magician. And it will generally be found that in all such popularnarratives, the king, if he is a wicked king, is generally also a wizard. Nowthere is a very vital human truth enshrined in this. Bad government, like good

government, is a spiritual thing. Even the tyrant never rules by force alone;

but mostly by fairy tales. And so it is with the modern tyrant, the greatemployer. The sight of a millionaire is seldom, in the ordinary sense, an

enchanting sight: nevertheless, he is in his way an enchanter. As they say in

the gushing articles about him in the magazines, he is a fascinating

personality. So is a snake. At least he is fascinating to rabbits; and so is themillionaire to the rabbit-witted sort of people that ladies and gentlemen haveallowed themselves to become. He does, in a manner, cast a spell, such as that

which imprisoned princes and princesses under the shapes of falcons or stags.He has truly turned men into sheep, as Circe turned them into swine.

Now, the chief of the fairy tales, by which he gains this glory and glamour, isa certain hazy association he has managed to create between the idea of

bigness and the idea of practicality. Numbers of the rabbit-witted ladies andgentlemen do really think, in spite of themselves and their experience, that so

long as a shop has hundreds of different doors and a great many hot andunhealthy underground departments (they must be hot; this is very important),and more people than would be needed for a man-of-war, or crowded

cathedral, to say: "This way, madam," and "The next article, sir," it follows

that the goods are good. In short, they hold that the big businesses are businesslike. They are not. Any housekeeper in a truthful mood, that is to say,

any housekeeper in a bad temper, will tell you that they are not. Buthousekeepers, too, are human, and therefore inconsistent and complex; and

they do not always stick to truth and bad temper. They are also affected by

this queer idolatry of the enormous and elaborate; and cannot help feeling thatanything so complicated must go like clockwork. But complexity is noguarantee of accuracy — in clockwork or in anything else. A clock can be as

wrong as the human head; and a clock can stop, as suddenly as the human

heart.

But this strange poetry of plutocracy prevails over people against their very

senses. You write to one of the great London stores or emporia, asking, let ussay, for an umbrella. A month or two afterwards you receive a veryelaborately constructed parcel, containing a broken parasol. You are very

pleased. You are gratified to reflect on what a vast number of assistants andemployees had combined to break that parasol. You luxuriate in the memory



of all those long rooms and departments and wonder in which of them the

parasol that you never ordered was broken. Or you want a toy elephant foryour child on Christmas Day; as children, like all nice and healthy people, are

very ritualistic. Some week or so after Twelfth Night, let us say, you have the pleasure of removing three layers of pasteboards, five layers of brown paper,

and fifteen layers of tissue paper and discovering the fragments of an artificial

crocodile. You smile in an expansive spirit. You feel that your soul has been broadened by the vision of incompetence conducted on so large a scale. Youadmire all the more the colossal and Omnipresent Brain of the Organiser of

Industry, who amid all his multitudinous cares did not disdain to remember

his duty of smashing even the smallest toy of the smallest child. Or, supposingyou have asked him to send you some two rolls of cocoa-nut matting: and

supposing (after a due interval for reflection) he duly delivers to you the five

rolls of wire netting. You take pleasure in the consideration of a mystery:

which coarse minds might have called a mistake. It consoles you to know how big the business is: and what an enormous number of people were needed tomake such a mistake.

That is the romance that has been told about the big shops; in the literature

and art which they have bought, and which (as I said in my recent articles)

will soon be quite indistinguishable from their ordinary advertisements. Theliterature is commercial; and it is only fair to say that the commerce is often

really literary. It is no romance, but only rubbish.

The big commercial concerns of to-day are quite exceptionally incompetent.They will be even more incompetent when they are omnipotent. Indeed, thatis, and always has been, the whole point of a monopoly; the old and sound

argument against a monopoly. It is only because it is incompetent that it has to

be omnipotent. When one large shop occupies the whole of one side of a street

(or sometimes both sides), it does so in order that men may be unable to getwhat they want; and may be forced to buy what they don't want. That therapidly approaching kingdom of the Capitalists will ruin art and letters, I have

already said. I say here that in the only sense that can be called human, it will

ruin trade, too.

I will not let Christmas go by, even when writing for a revolutionary papernecessarily appealing to many with none of my religious sympathies, without

appealing to those sympathies. I knew a man who sent to a great rich shop for

a figure for a group of Bethlehem. It arrived broken. I think that is exactly all

that business men have now the sense to do.

IV. The War on Holidays



The general proposition, not always easy to define exhaustively, that the reign

of the capitalist will be the reign of the cad — that is, of the unlicked type thatis neither the citizen nor the gentleman — can be excellently studied in its

attitude towards holidays. The special emblematic Employer of to-day,especially the Model Employer (who is the worst sort) has in his starved and

evil heart a sincere hatred of holidays. I do not mean that he necessarily wants

all his workmen to work until they drop; that only occurs when he happens to be stupid as well as wicked. I do not mean to say that he is necessarilyunwilling to grant what he would call "decent hours of labour." He may treat

men like dirt; but if you want to make money, even out of dirt, you must let it

lie fallow by some rotation of rest. He may treat men as dogs, but unless he isa lunatic he will for certain periods let sleeping dogs lie.

But humane and reasonable hours for labour have nothing whatever to do with

the idea of holidays. It is not even a question of tenhours day and eight-hoursday; it is not a question of cutting down leisure to the space necessary for

food, sleep and exercise. If the modern employer came to the conclusion, forsome reason or other, that he could get most out of his men by working themhard for only two hours a day, his whole mental attitude would still be foreign

and hostile to holidays. For his whole mental attitude is that the passive time

and the active time are alike useful for him and his business. All is, indeed,grist that comes to his mill, including the millers. His slaves still serve him in

unconsciousness, as dogs still hunt in slumber. His grist is ground not only bythe sounding wheels of iron, but by the soundless wheel of blood and brain.

His sacks are still filling silently when the doors are shut on the streets and thesound of the grinding is low.

The Great Holiday

Now a holiday has no connection with using a man either by beating or

feeding him. When you give a man a holiday you give him back his body andsoul. It is quite possible you may be doing him an injury (though he seldomthinks so), but that does not affect the question for those to whom a holiday is

holy. Immortality is the great holiday; and a holiday, like the immortality inthe old theologies, is a double-edged privilege. But wherever it is genuine it issimply the restoration and completion of the man. If people ever looked at the

printed word under their eye, the word "recreation" would be like the word

"resurrection," the blast of a trumpet.

A man, being merely useful, is necessarily incomplete, especially if he be a

modern man and means by being useful being "utilitarian." A man going intoa modern club gives up his hat; a man going into a modern factory gives up

his head. He then goes in and works loyally for the old firm to build up thegreat fabric of commerce (which can be done without a head), but when he



has done work he goes to the cloak-room, like the man at the club, and gets

his head back again; that is the germ of the holiday. It may be urged that theclub man who leaves his hat often goes away with another hat; and perhaps it

may be the same with the factory hand who has left his head. A hand that haslost its head may affect the fastidious as a mixed metaphor; but, God pardon

us all, what an unmixed truth! We could almost prove the whole ease from the

habit of calling human beings merely "hands" while they are working; as ifthe hand were horribly cut off, like the hand that has offended; as if, while thesinner entered heaven maimed, his unhappy hand still laboured laying up

riches for the lords of hell. But to return to the man whom we found waiting

for his head in the cloak-room. It may be urged, we say, that he might take thewrong head, like the wrong hat; but here the similarity ceases. For it has been

observed by benevolent onlookers at life's drama that the hat taken away by

mistake is frequently better than the real hat; whereas the head taken away

after the hours of toil is certainly worse: stained with the cobwebs and dust ofthis dustbin of all the centuries.

The Supreme Adventure

All the words dedicated to places of eating and drinking are pure and poetic

words. Even the word "hotel" is the word hospital. And St. Julien, whoseclaret I drank this Christmas, was the patron saint of innkeepers, because (as

far as I can make out) he was hospitable to lepers. Now I do not say that the

ordinary hotel-keeper in Piccadilly or the Avenue de l'Opera would embrace aleper, slap him on the back, and ask him to order what he liked; but I do saythat hospitality is his trade virtue. And I do also say it is well to keep before

our eyes the supreme adventure of a virtue. If you are brave, think of the manwho was braver than you. If you are kind, think of the man who was kinder

than you.

That is what was meant by having a patron saint. That is the link between the poor saint who received bodily lepers and the great hotel proprietor who (as arule) receives spiritual lepers. But a word yet weaker than "hotel" illustrates

the same point — the word "restaurant." There again you have the admissionthat there is a definite building or statue to "restore"; that ineffaceable imageof man that some call the image of God. And that is the holiday; it is the

restaurant or restoring thing that, by a blast of magic, turns a man into himself.

This complete and reconstructed man is the nightmare of the moderncapitalist. His whole scheme would crack across like a mirror of Shallot, if

once a plain man were ready for his two plain duties — ready to live and readyto die. And that horror of holidays which marks the modern capitalist is verylargely a horror of the vision of a whole human being: something that is not a

"hand" or a "head for figutes." But an awful creature who has met himself in



the wilderness. The employers will give time to eat, time to sleep; they are in

terror of a time to think.

To anyone who knows any history it is wholly needless to say that holidayshave been destroyed. As Mr. Belloc, who knows much more history than you

or I, recently pointed out in the "Pall Mall Magazine," Shakespeare's title of"Twelfth Night: or What You Will" simply meant that a winter carnival foreverybody went on wildly till the twelfth night after Christmas. Those of my

readers who work for modern offices or factories might ask their employers

for twelve days' holidays after Christmas. And they might let me know thereply.

V. THE CHURCH OF THE SERVILE STATE

I confess I cannot see why mere blasphemy by itself should be an excuse fortyranny and treason; or how the mere isolated fact of a man not believing inGod should be a reason for my believing in Him.

But the rather spinsterish flutter among some of the old Freethinkers has putone tiny ripple of truth in it; and that affects the idea which I wish toemphasise even to monotony in these pages. I mean the idea that the new

community which the capitalists are now constructing will be a very completeand absolute community; and one which will tolerate nothing reallyindependent of itself. Now, it is true that any positive creed, true or false,

would tend to be independent of itself. It might be Roman Catholicism or

Mahomedanism or Materialism; but, if strongly held, it would be a thorn inthe side of the Servile State. The Moslem thinks all men immortal: the

Materialist thinks all men mortal. But the Moslem does not think the richSinbad will live forever; but the poor Sinbad will die on his deathbed. The

Materialist does not think that Mr. Haeckel will go to heaven, while all the peasants will go to pot, like their chickens. In every serious doctrine of thedestiny of men, there is some trace of the doctrine of the equality of men. But

the capitalist really depends on some religion of inequality. The capitalistmust somehow distinguish himself from human kind; he must be obviouslyabove it — or he would be obviously below it. Take even the least attractive

and popular side of the larger religions to-day; take the mere vetoes imposed

by Islam on Atheism or Catholicism. The Moslem veto upon intoxicants cutsacross all classes. But it is absolutely necessary for the capitalist (who

presides at a Licensing Committee, and also at a large dinner), it is absolutelynecessary for him, to make a distinction between gin and champagne. The

Atheist veto upon all miracles cuts across all classes. But it is absolutely

necessary for the capitalist to make a distinction between his wife (who is an

aristocrat and consults crystal gazers and star gazers in the West End), andvulgar miracles claimed by gipsies or travelling showmen. The Catholic veto



upon usury, as defined in dogmatic councils, cuts across all classes. But it is

absolutely necessary to the capitalist to distinguish more delicately betweentwo kinds of usury; the kind he finds useful and the kind he does not find

useful. The religion of the Servile State must have no dogmas or definitions. Itcannot afford to have any definitions. For definitions are very dreadful things:

they do the two things that most men, especially comfortable men, cannot

endure. They fight; and they fight fair.

Every religion, apart from open devil worship, must appeal to a virtue or the

pretence of a virtue. But a virtue, generally speaking, does some good toeverybody. It is therefore necessary to distinguish among the people it was

meant to benefit those whom it does benefit. Modern broad-mindedness benefits the rich; and benefits nobody else. It was meant to benefit the rich;

and meant to benefit nobody else. And if you think this unwarranted, I will put

before you one plain question. There are some pleasures of the poor that mayalso mean profits for the rich: there are other pleasures of the poor which

cannot mean profits for the rich? Watch this one contrast, and you will watchthe whole creation of a careful slavery.

In the last resort the two things called Beer and Soap end only in a froth. They

are both below the high notice of a real religion. But there is just this

difference: that the soap makes the factory more satisfactory, while the beeronly makes the workman more satisfied. Wait and see if the Soap does notincrease and the Beer decrease. Wait and see whether the religion of the

Servile State is not in every case what I say: the encouragement of smallvirtues supporting capitalism, the discouragement of the huge virtues that defyit. Many great religions, Pagan and Christian, have insisted on wine. Only

one, I think, has insisted on Soap. You will find it in the New Testament

attributed to the Pharisees.

VI. SCIENCE AND THE EUGENISTS

The key fact in the new development of plutocracy is that it will use its own blunder as an excuse for further crimes. Everywhere the very completeness ofthe impoverishment will be made a reason for the enslavement; though the

men who impoverished were the same who enslaved. It is as if a highwayman

not only took away a gentleman's horse and all his money, but then handedhim over to the police for tramping without visible means of subsistence. And

the most monstrous feature in this enormous meanness may be noted in the plutocratic appeal to science, or, rather, to the pseudo-science that they call

Eugenics.

The Eugenists get the ear of the humane but rather hazy cliques by saying thatthe present "conditions" under which people work and breed are bad for the



race; but the modern mind will not generally stretch beyond one step of

reasoning, and the consequence which appears to follow on the considerationof these "conditions" is by no means what would originally have been

expected. If somebody says: "A rickety cradle may mean a rickety baby," thenatural deduction, one would think, would be to give the people a good cradle,

or give them money enough to buy one. But that means higher wages and

greater equalisation of wealth; and the plutocratic scientist, with a slightlytroubled expression, turns his eyes and pince-nez in another direction.Reduced to brutal terms of truth, his difficulty is this and simply this: More

food, leisure, and money for the workman would mean a better workman,

better even from the point of view of anyone for whom he worked. But morefood, leisure, and money would also mean a more independent workman. A

house with a decent fire and a full pantry would be a better house to make a

chair or mend a clock in, even from the customer's point of view, than a hovel

with a leaky roof and a cold hearth. But a house with a decent fire and a full pantry would also be a better house in which to refuse to make a chair ormend a clock — a much better house to do nothing in — and doing nothing is

sometimes one of the highest of the duties of man. All but the hard-heartedmust be torn with pity for this pathetic dilemma of the rich man, who has tokeep the poor man just stout enough to do the work and just thin enough to

have to do it. As he stood gazing at the leaky roof and the rickety cradle in a

pensive manner, there one day came into his mind a new and curious idea — one of the most strange, simple, and horrible ideas that have ever risen from

the deep pit of original sin.

The roof could not be mended, or, at least, it could not be mended much,without upsetting the capitalist balance, or, rather, disproportion in society; for

a man with a roof is a man with a house, and to that extent his house is his

castle. The cradle could not be made to rock easier, or, at least, not mucheasier, without strengthening the hands of the poor household, for the hand

that rocks the cradle rules the world — to that extent. But it occurred to thecapitalist that there was one sort of furniture in the house that could be altered.

The husband and wife could be altered. Birth costs nothing, except in pain and

valour and such old-fashioned things; and the merchant need pay no more formating a strong miner to a healthy fishwife than he pays when the minermates himself with a less robust female whom he has the sentimentality to

prefer. Thus it might be possible, by keeping on certain broad lines of

heredity, to have some physical improvement without any moral, political, or

social improvement. It might be possible to keep a supply of strong andhealthy slaves without coddling them with decent conditions. As the mill-

owners use the wind and the water to drive their mills, they would use this

natural force as something even cheaper; and turn their wheels by divertingfrom its channel the blood of a man in his youth. That is what Eugenics

means; and that is all that it means.



Of the moral state of those who think of such things it does not become us to

speak. The practical question is rather the intellectual one: of whether theircalculations are well founded, and whether the men of science can or will

guarantee them any such physical certainties. Fortunately, it becomes clearerevery day that they are, scientifically speaking, building on the shifting sand.

The theory of breeding slaves breaks down through what a democrat calls the

equality of men, but which even an oligarchist will find himself forced to callthe similarity of men. That is, that though it is not true that all men are normal,it is overwhelmingly certain that most men are normal. All the common

Eugenic arguments are drawn from extreme cases, which, even if human

honour and laughter allowed of their being eliminated, would not by theirelimination greatly affect the mass. For the rest, there remains the enormous

weakness in Eugenics, that if ordinary men's judgment or liberty is to be

discounted in relation to heredity, the judgment of the judges must be

discounted in relation to their heredity. The Eugenic professor may or may notsucceed in choosing a baby's parents; it is quite certain that he cannot succeedin choosing his own parents. All his thoughts, including his Eugenic thoughts,

are, by the very principle of those thoughts, flowing from a doubtful or taintedsource. In short, we should need a perfectly Wise Man to do the thing at all.And if he were a Wise Man he would not do it.

VII. THE EVOLUTION OF THE PRISON

I have never understood why it is that those who talk most about evolution,and talk it in the very age of fashionable evolutionism, do not see the one wayin which evolution really does apply to our modern difficulty. There is, of

course, an element of evolutionism in the universe; and I know no religion or philosophy that ever entirely ignored it. Evolution, popularly speaking, is that

which happens to unconscious things. They grow unconsciously; or fadeunconsciously; or rather, some parts of them grow and some parts of them

fade; and at any given moment there is almost always some presence of thc

fading thing, and some incompleteness in the growing one. Thus, if I went to

sleep for a hundred years, like the Sleeping Beauty (I wish I could), I shouldgrow a beard — unlike the Sleeping Beauty. And just as I should grow hair if I

were asleep, I should grow grass if I were dead. Those whose religion it was

that God was asleep were perpetually impressed and affected by the fact thathe had a long beard. And those whose philosophy it is that the universe is

dead from the beginning (being the grave of nobody in particular) think that is

the way that grass can grow. In any case, these developments only occur with

dead or dreaming things. What happens when everyone is asleep is calledEvolution. What happens when everyone is awake is called Revolution.



There was once an honest man, whose name I never knew, but whose face I

can almost see (it is framed in Victorian whiskers and fixed in a Victorianneck-cloth), who was balancing the achievements of France and England in

civilisation and social efficiencies. And when he came to the religious aspecthe said that there were more stone and brick churches used in France; but, on

the other hand, there are more sects in England. Whether such a lively

disintegration is a proof of vitality in any valuable sense I have alwaysdoubted. The sun may breed maggots in a dead dog; but it is essential for sucha liberation of life that the dog should be unconscious or (to say the least of it)

absent-minded. Broadly speaking, you may call the thing corruption, if you

happen to like dogs. You may call it evolution, if you happen to like maggots.In either case, it is what happens to things if you leave them alone.

The Evolutionists' Error

Now, the modern Evolutionists have made no real use of the idea of evolution,especially in the matter of social prediction. They always fall into what is

(from their logical point of view) the error of supposing that evolution knows

what it is doing. They predict the State of the future as a fruit rounded and polished. But the whole point of evolution (the only point there is in it) is that

no State will ever be rounded and polished, because it will always containsome organs that outlived their use, and some that have not yet fully found

theirs. If we wish to prophesy what will happen, we must imagine things now

moderate grown enormous; things now local grown universal; things now promising grown triumphant; primroses bigger than sunflowers, and sparrowsstalking about like flamingoes.

In other words, we must ask what modern institution has a future before it?

What modern institution may have swollen to six times its present size in the

social heat and growth of the future? I do not think the Garden City will grow:

but of that I may speak in my next and last article of this series. I do not thinkeven the ordinary Elementary School, with its compulsory education, willgrow. Too many unlettered people hate the teacher for teaching; and too many

lettered people hate the teacher for not teaching. The Garden City will not bear much blossom; the young idea will not shoot, unless it shoots the teacher.But the one flowering tree on the estate, the one natural expansion which I

think will expand, is the institution we call the Prison.

Prisons for All

If the capitalists are allowed to erect their constructive capitalist community, I

speak quite seriously when I say that I think Prison will become an almost

universal experience. It will not necessarily be a cruel or shameful experience:on these points (I concede certainly for the present purpose of debate) it may



be a vastly improved experience. The conditions in the prison, very possibly,

will be made more humane. But the prison will be made more humane only inorder to contain more of humanity. I think little of the judgment and sense of

humour of any man who can have watched recent police trials withoutrealising that it is no longer a question of whether the law has been broken by

a crime; but, now, solely a question of whether the situation could be mended

by an imprisonment. It was so with Tom Mann; it was so with Larkin; it wasso with the poor atheist who was kept in gaol for saying something he had

been acquitted of saying: it is so in such cases day by day. We no longer lock

a man up for doing something; we lock him up in the hope of his doing

nothing. Given this principle, it is evidently possible to make the mereconditions of punishment more moderate, or — (more probably) more secret.

There may really be more mercy in the Prison, on condition that there is less

justice in the Court. I should not be surprised if, before we are done with all

this, a man was allowed to smoke in prison, on condition, of course, that hehad been put in prison for smoking.

Now that is the process which, in the absence of democratic protest, willcertainly proceed, will increase and multiply and replenish the earth and

subdue it. Prison may even lose its disgrace for a little time: it will be difficult

to make it disgraceful when men like Larkin can be imprisoned for no reasonat all, just as his celebrated ancestor was hanged for no reason at all. But

capitalist society, which naturally does not know the meaning of honour,cannot know the meaning of disgrace: and it will still go on imprisoning for

no reason at all. Or rather for that rather simple reason that makes a cat springor a rat run away.

It matters little whether our masters stoop to state the matter in the form that

every prison should be a school; or in the more candid form that every school

should be a prison. They have already fulfilled their servile principle in thecase of the schools. Everyone goes to the Elementary Schools except the few

people who tell them to go there. I prophesy that (unless our revolt succeeds)

nearly everyone will be going to Prison, with a precisely similar patience.

VIII. THE LASH FOR LABOUR

If I were to prophesy that two hundred years hence a grocer would have theright and habit of beating the grocer's assistant with a stick, or that shop girls

might be flogged, as they already can be fined, many would regard it as rathera rash remark. It would be a rash remark. Prophecy is always unreliable;

unless we except the kind which is avowedly irrational, mystical and

supernatural prophecy. But relatively to nearly all the other prophecies that are

being made around me to-day, I should say my prediction stood anexceptionally good chance. In short, I think the grocer with the stick is a



figure we are far more likely to see than the Superman or the Samurai, or the

True Model Employer, or the Perfect Fabian Official, or the citizen of theCollectivist State. And it is best for us to see the full ugliness of the

transformation which is passing over our Society in some such abrupt andeven grotesque image at the end of it. The beginnings of a decline, in every

age of history, have always had the appearance of being reforms. Nero not

only fiddled while Rome was burning, but he probably really paid moreattention to the fiddle than to the fire. The Roi Soleil, like many other soleils,was most splendid to all appearance a little before sunset. And if I ask myself

what will be the ultimate and final fruit of all our social reforms, garden cities,

model employers, insurances, exchanges, arbitration courts, and so on, then, Isay, quite seriously, "I think it will be labour under the lash."

The Sultan and the Sack

Let us arrange in some order a number of converging considerations that all point in this direction. (1) It is broadly true, no doubt, that the weapon of the

employer has hitherto been the threat of dismissal, that is, the threat of

enforced starvation. He is a Sultan who need not order the bastinado, so longas he can order the sack. But there are not a few signs that this weapon is not

quite so convenient and flexible a one as his increasing rapacities require. Thefact of the introduction of fines, secretly or openly, in many shops and

factories, proves that it is convenient for the capitalists to have some

temporary and adjustable form of punishment besides the final punishment of pure ruin. Nor is it difficult to see the commonsense of this from their whollyinhuman point of view. The act of sacking a man is attended with the same

disadvantages as the act of shooting a man: one of which is that you can getno more out of him. It is, I am told, distinctly annoying to blow a fellow

creature's brains out with a revolver and then suddenly remember that he wasthe only person who knew where to get the best Russian cigarettes. So our

Sultan, who is the orderer of the sack, is also the bearer of the bow-string. A

school in which there was no punishment, except expulsion, would be aschool in which it would be very difficult to keep proper discipline; and the

sort of discipline on which the reformed capitalism will insist will be all of thetype which in free nations is imposed only on children. Such a school would

probably be in a chronic condition of breaking up for the holidays. And thereasons for the insufficiency of this extreme instrument are also varied and

evident. The materialistic Sociologists, who talk about the survival of thefittest and the weakest going to the wall (and whose way of looking at the

world is to put on the latest and most powerful scientific spectacles, and thenshut their eyes), frequently talk as if a workman were simply efficient or non-

efficient, as if a criminal were reclaimable or irreclaimable. The employers

have sense enough at least to know better than that. They can see that aservant may be useful in one way and exasperating in another; that he may be



bad in one part of his work and good in another; that he may be occasionally

drunk and yet generally indispensable. Just as a practical school-master wouldknow that a schoolboy can be at once the plague and the pride of the school.

Under these circumstances small and varying penalties are obviously the mostconvenient things for the person keeping order; an underling can be punished

for coming late, and yet do useful work when he comes. It will be possible to

give a rap over the knuckles without wholly cutting off the right hand that hasoffended. Under these circumstances the employers have naturally resorted tofines. But there is a further ground for believing that the process will go

beyond fines before it is completed.

(2) The fine is based on the old European idea that everybody possesses private property in some reasonable degree; but not only is this not true to-

day, but it is not being made any truer, even by those who honestly believe

that they are mending matters. The great employers will often do somethingtowards improving what they call the "conditions" of their workers; but a

worker might have his conditions as carefully arranged as a racehorse has, andstill have no more personal property than a racehorse. If you take an average

poor seamstress or factory girl, you will find that the power of chastising her

through her property has very considerable limits; it is almost as hard for the

employer of labour to tax her for punishment as it is for the Chancellor of theExchequer to tax her for revenue. The next most obvious thing to think of, of

course, would be imprisonment, and that might be effective enough undersimpler conditions. An old-fashioned shopkeeper might have locked up his

apprentice in his coal-cellar; but his coal-cellar would be a real, pitch darkcoal-cellar, and the rest of his house would be a real human house. Everybody(especially the apprentice) would see a most perceptible difference between

the two. But, as I pointed out in the article before this, the whole tendency of

the capitalist legislation and experiment is to make imprisonment much moregeneral and automatic, while making it, or professing to make it, more

humane. In other words, the hygienic prison and the servile factory will become so uncommonly like each other that the poor man will hardly know or

care whether he is at the moment expiating an offence or merely swelling a

dividend. In both places there will be the same sort of shiny tiles. In neither place will there be any cell so unwholesome as a coal-cellar or so wholesomeas a home. The weapon of the prison, therefore, like the weapon of the fine,

will be found to have considerable limitations to its effectiveness when

employed against the wretched reduced citizen of our day. Whether it be

property or liberty you cannot take from him what he has not got. You cannotimprison a slave, because you cannot enslave a slave.

The Barbarous Revival



(3) Most people, on hearing the suggestion that it may come to corporal

punishment at last (as it did in every slave system I ever heard of, includingsome that were generally kindly, and even successful), will merely be struck

with horror and incredulity, and feel that such a barbarous revival isunthinkable in the modern atmosphere. How far it will be, or need be, a

revival of the actual images and methods of ruder times I will discuss in a

moment. But first, as another of the converging lines tending to corporal punishment, consider this: that for some reason or other the old full-bloodedand masculine humanitarianism in this matter has weakened and fallen silent;

it has weakened and fallen silent in a very curious manner, the precise reason

for which I do not altogether understand. I knew the average Liberal, theaverage Nonconformist minister, the average Labour Member, the average

middle-class Socialist, were, with all their good qualities, very deficient in

what I consider a respect for the human soul. But I did imagine that they had

the ordinary modern respect for the human body. The fact, however, is clearand incontrovertible. In spite of the horror of all humane people, in spite of thehesitation even of our corrupt and panic-stricken Parliament, measures can

now be triumphantly passed for spreading or increasing the use of physicaltorture, and for applying it to the newest and vaguest categories of crime.Thirty or forty years ago, nay, twenty years ago, when Mr. F. Hugh O'Donnell

and others forced a Liberal Government to drop the cat-o-nine-tails like a

scorpion, we could have counted on a mass of honest hatred of such things.We cannot count on it now.

(4) But lastly, it is not necessary that in the factories of the future theinstitution of physical punishment should actually remind people of the

jambok or the knout. It could easily be developed out of the many forms of

physical discipline which are already used by employers on the excuses of

education or hygiene. Already in some factories girls are obliged to swimwhether they like it or not, or do gymnastics whether they like it or not. By a

simple extension of hours or complication of exercises a pair of Swedish clubscould easily be so used as to leave their victim as exhausted as one who had

come off the rack. I think it extremely likely that they will be.

IX. THE MASK OF SOCIALISM

The chief aim of all honest Socialists just now is to prevent the coming of

Socialism. I do not say it as a sneer, but, on the contrary, as a compliment; acompliment to their political instinct and public spirit. I admit it may be called

an exaggeration; but there really is a sort of sham Socialism that the modern politicians may quite possibly agree to set up; if they do succeed in setting it

up, the battle for the poor is lost.



We must note, first of all, a general truth about the curious time we live in. It

will not be so difficult as some people may suppose to make the Servile Statelook rather like Socialism, especially to the more pedantic kind of Socialist.

The reason is this. The old lucid and trenchant expounder of Socialism, suchas Blatchford or Fred Henderson, always describes the economic power of the

plutocrats as consisting in private property. Of course, in a sense, this is quite

true; though they too often miss the point that private property, as such, is notthe same as property confined to the few. But the truth is that the situation hasgrown much more subtle; perhaps too subtle, not to say too insane, for

straight-thinking theorists like Blatchford. The rich man to-day does not only

rule by using private property; he also rules by treating public property as if itwere private property. A man like Lord Murray pulled the strings, especially

the pursestrings; but the whole point of his position was that all sorts of

strings had got entangled. The secret strength of the money he held did not lie

merely in the fact that it was his money. It lay precisely in the fact that nobodyhad any clear idea of whether it was his money, or his successor's money, orhis brother's money, or the Marconi Company's money, or the Liberal Party's

money, or the English Nation's money. It was buried treasure; but it was not private property. It was the acme of plutocracy because it was not private property. Now, by following this precedent, this unprincipled vagueness about

official and unofficial moneys by the cheerful habit of always mixing up the

money in the pocket with the money in the till, it would be quite possible tokeep the rich as rich as ever in practice, though they might have suffered

confiscation in theory. Mr. Lloyd George has four hundred a year as an M. P.; but he not only gets much more as a Minister, but he might at any time get

immeasurably more by speculating on State secrets that are necessarily knownto him. Some say that he has even attempted something of the kind. Now, itwould be quite possible to cut Mr. George down, not to four hundred a year,

but to fourpence a day; and still leave him all these other and enormous

financial superiorities. It must be remembered that a Socialist State, in anyway resembling a modern State, must, however egalitarian it may be, have the

handling of huge sums, and the enjoyment of large conveniences; it is notimprobable that the same men will handle and enjoy in much the same

manner, though in theory they are doing it as instruments, and not asindividuals. For instance, the Prime Minister has a private house, which is also(I grieve to inform that eminent Puritan) a public house. It is supposed to be a

sort of Government office; though people do not generally give children's

parties, or go to bed in a Government office. I do not know where Mr. HerbertSamuel lives; but I have no doubt he does himself well in the matter of

decoration and furniture. On the existing official parallel there is no need to

move any of these things in order to Socialise them. There is no need towithdraw one diamond-headed nail from the carpet; or one golden teaspoon

from the tray. It is only necessary to call it an official residence, like 10

Downing-street. I think it is not at all improbable that this Plutocracy, pretending to be a Bureaucracy, will be attempted or achieved. Our wealthy



rulers will be in the position which grumblers in the world of sport sometimes

attribute to some of the "gentlemen" players. They assert that some of theseare paid like any professional; only their pay is called their expenses. This

system might run side by side with a theory of equal wages, as absolute as thatonce laid down by Mr. Bernard Shaw. By the theory of the State, Mr. Herbert

Samuel and Mr. Lloyd George might be humble citizens, drudging for their

fourpence a day; and no better off than porters and coal-heavers. If there were presented to our mere senses what appeared to be the form of Mr. HerbertSamuel in an astrakhan coat and a motor-car, we should find the record of the

expenditure (if we could find it at all) under the heading of "Speed Limit

Extension Enquiry Commission." If it fell to our lot to behold (with the eye offlesh) what seemed to be Mr. Lloyd George lying in a hammock and smoking

a costly cigar, we should know that the expenditure would be divided between

the "Condition of Rope and Netting Investigation Department," and the "State

of Cuban Tobacco Trade: Imperial Inspector's Report."

Such is the society I think they will build unless we can knock it down as fastas they build it. Everything in it, tolerable or intolerable, will have but oneuse; and that use what our ancestors used to call usance or usury. Its art may

be good or bad, but it will be an advertisement for usurers; its literature may

be good or bad, but it will appeal to the patronage of usurers; its scientificselection will select according to the needs of usurers; its religion will be just

charitable enough to pardon usurers; its penal system will be just cruel enoughto crush all the critics of usurers: the truth of it will be Slavery: and the title of

it may quite possibly be Socialism.

THE ESCAPE

We watched you building, stone by stone,The well-washed cells and well-washed graves

We shall inhabit but not ownWhen Britons ever shall be slaves;

The water's waiting in the trough,The tame oats sown are portioned free,

There is Enough, and just Enough,And all is ready now but we.

But you have not caught us yet, my lords,

You have us still to get.

A sorry army you'd have got,

Its flags are rags that float and rot,

Its drums are empty pan and pot,



Its baggage is — an empty cot;

But you have not caught us yet.

A little; and we might have slipped

When came your rumours and your salesAnd the foiled rich men, feeble-lipped,Said and unsaid their sorry tales;

Great God! It needs a bolder browTo keep ten sheep inside a pen,And we are sheep no longer now;

You are but Masters. We are Men.

We give you all good thanks, my lords,

We buy at easy price;Thanks for the thousands that you stole,The bribes by wire, the bets on coal,

The knowledge of that naked wholeThat hath delivered our flesh and soulOut of your Paradise.

We had held safe your parks; but when

Men taunted you with bribe and fee,

We only saw the Lord of MenGrin like an Ape and climb a tree;And humbly had we stood withoutYour princely barns; did we not see

In pointed faces peering outWhat Rats now own the granary.

It is too late, too late, my lords,

We give you back your grace:

You cannot with all cajolingMake the wet ditch, or winds that sting,Lost pride, or the pawned wedding rings,Or drink or Death a blacker thing

Than a smile upon your face.

THE NEW RAID



The two kinds of social reform, one of which might conceivably free us at last

while the other would certainly enslave us forever, are exhibited in an easyworking model in the two efforts that have been made for the soldiers'

wives — I mean the effort to increase their allowance and the effort to curtailtheir alleged drinking. In the preliminary consideration, at any rate, we must

see the second question as quite detached from our own sympathies on the

special subject of fermented liquor. It could be applied to any other pleasureor ornament of life; it will be applied to every other pleasure and ornament oflife if the Capitalist campaign can succeed. The argument we know; but it

cannot be too often made clear. An employer, let us say, pays a seamstress

twopence a day, and she does not seem to thrive on it. So little, perhaps, doesshe thrive on it that the employer has even some difficulty in thriving upon

her. There are only two things that he can do, and the distinction between

them cuts the whole social and political world in two. It is a touchstone by

which we can — not sometimes, but always — distinguish economic equalityfrom servile social reform. He can give the girl some magnificent sum, suchas sixpence a day, to do as she likes with, and trust that her improved health

and temper will work for the benefit of his business. Or he may keep her tothe original sum of a shilling a week, but earmark each of the pennies to beused or not to be used for a particular purpose. If she must not spend this

penny on a bunch of violets, or that penny on a novelette, or the other penny

on a toy for some baby, it is possible that she will concentrate her expendituremore upon physical necessities, and so become, from the employer's point of

view, a more efficient person. Without the trouble of adding twopence to herwages, he has added twopenny-worth to her food. In short, she has the holy

satisfaction of being worth more without being paid more.

This Capitalist is an ingenious person, and has many polished characteristics;

but I think the most singular thing about him is his staggering lack of shame. Neither the hour of death nor the day of reckoning, neither the tent of exile nor

the house of mourning, neither chivalry nor patriotism, neither womanhoodnor widowhood, is safe at this supreme moment from his dirty little expedient

of dieting the slave. As similar bullies, when they collect the slum rents, put a

foot in the open door, these are always ready to push in a muddy wedgewherever there is a slit in a sundered household or a crack in a broken heart.To a man of any manhood nothing can be conceived more loathsome and

sacrilegious than even so much as asking whether a woman who has given up

all she loved to death and the fatherland has or has not shown some weakness

in her seeking for self-comfort. I know not in which of the two cases I shouldcount myself the baser for inquiring — a case where the charge was false or a

case where it was true. But the philanthropic employer of the sort I describe is

not a man of any manhood; in a sense he is not a man at all. He shows someconsciousness of the fact when he calls his workers "men" as distinct from

masters. He cannot comprehend the gallantry of costermongers or the delicacythat is quite common among cabmen. He finds this social reform by half-



rations on the whole to his mercantile profit, and it will be hard to get him to

think of anything else.

But there are people assisting him, people like the Duchess of Marlborough,who know not their right hand from their left, and to these we may

legitimately address our remonstrance and a resume of some of the facts theydo not know. The Duchess of Marlborough is, I believe, an American, and thisseparates her from the problem in a special way, because the drink question in

America is entirely different from the drink question in England. But I wish

the Duchess of Marlborough would pin up in her private study, side by sidewith the Declaration of Independence, a document recording the following

simple truths: (1) Beer, which is largely drunk in public-houses, is not a spiritor a grog or a cocktail or a drug. It is the common English liquid for

quenching the thirst; it is so still among innumerable gentlemen, and, until

very lately, was so among innumerable ladies. Most of us remember dames ofthe last generation whose manners were fit for Versailles, and who drank ale

or Stout as a matter of course. Schoolboys drank ale as a matter of course, andtheir schoolmasters gave it to them as a matter of course. To tell a poorwoman that she must not have any until half the day is over is simply cracked,

like telling a dog or a child that he must not have water. (2) The public-house

is not a secret rendezvous of bad characters. It is the open and obvious placefor a certain purpose, which all men used for that purpose until the rich began

to be snobs and the poor to become slaves. One might as well warn peopleagainst Willesden Junction. (3) Many poor people live in houses where they

cannot, without great preparation, offer hospitality. (4) The climate of these picturesque islands does not favour conducting long conversations with one'soldest friends on an iron seat in the park. (5) Halfpast eleven a.m. is not early

in the day for a woman who gets up before six. (6) The bodies and minds of

these women belong to God and to themselves.

THE NEW NAME

Something has come into our community, which is strong enough to save ourcommunity; but which has not yet got a name. Let no one fancy I confess any

unreality when I confess the namelessness. The morality called Puritanism,the tendency called Liberalism, the reaction called Tory Democracy, had not

only long been powerful, but had practically done most of their work, before

these actual names were attached to them. Nevertheless, I think it would be agood thing to have some portable and practicable way of referring to those

who think as we do in our main concern. Which is, that men in England areruled, at this minute by the clock, by brutes who refuse them bread, by liars

who refuse them news, and by fools who cannot govern, and therefore wish toenslave.



Symbolically speaking, the dirty misers who rule us will put us in a mad-

house — unless we can put them there.

Or suppose a bank cashier were admittedly allowed to take the money out ofthe till, and put it loose in his pocket, more or less mixed up with his own

money; afterwards laying some of both (at different odds) on "Blue Murder"for the Derby. Suppose when some depositor asked mildly what day theaccountants came, he smote that astonished inquirer on the nose, crying:

"Slanderer! Mud-slinger!" and suppose he then resigned his position. Suppose

no books were shown. Suppose when the new cashier came to be initiated intohis duties, the old cashier did not tell him about the money, but confided it to

the honour and delicacy of his own maiden aunt at Cricklewood. Suppose hethen went off in a yacht to visit the whale fisheries of the North Sea. Well, in

every moral and legal principle, that is a precise account of the dealings with

the Party Funds. But what would the banker say? What would the clients say?One thing, I think, I can venture to promise; the banker would not march up

and down the office exclaiming in rapture, "I'm a rebel! That's what I am, arebel!" And if he said to the first indignant depositor "You are a rebel," I fearthe depositor might answer, "You are a robber." We have no need to elaborate

arguments for breaking the law. The capitalists have broken the law. We have

no need of further moralities. They have broken their own morality. It is as ifyou were to run down the street shouting, "Communism! Communism! Share!

Share!" after a man who had run away with your watch.

We want a term that will tell everybody that there is, by the common standard,frank fraud and cruelty pushed to their fierce extreme; and that we are fightingTHEM. We are not in a state of "divine discontent"; we are in an entirely

human and entirely reasonable rage. We say we have been swindled and

oppressed, and we are quite ready and able to prove it before any tribunal that

allows us to call a swindler a swindler. It is the protection of the presentsystem that most of its tribunals do not. I cannot at the moment think of any

party name that would particularly distinguish us from our more powerful and

prosperous opponents, unless it were the name the old Jacobites gave

themselves; the Honest Party.

Captured Our Standards

I think it is plain that for the purpose of facing these new and infamous

modern facts, we cannot, with any safety, depend on any of the old nineteenthcentury names; Socialist, or Communist, or Radical, or Liberal, or Labour.

They are all honourable names; they all stand, or stood, for things in which wemay still believe; we can still apply them to other problems; but not to thisone. We have no longer a monopoly of these names. Let it be understood that

I am not speaking here of the philosophical problem of their meaning, but of



the practical problem of their use. When I called myself a Radical I knew Mr.

Balfour would not call himself a Radical; therefore there was some use in theword. When I called myself a Socialist I knew Lord Penrhyn would not call

himself a Socialist; therefore there was some use in the word. But thecapitalists, in that aggressive march which is the main fact of our time, have

captured our standards, both in the military and philosophic sense of the word.

And it is useless for us to march under colours which they can carry as well aswe.

Do you believe in Democracy? The devils also believe and tremble. Do you believe in Trades Unionism? The Labour Members also believe; and tremble

like a falling teetotum. Do you believe in the State? The Samuels also believe,and grin. Do you believe in the centralisation of Empire? So did Beit. Do you

believe in the decentralisation of Empire? So does Albu. Do you believe in the

brotherhood of men: and do you, dear brethren, believe that Brother ArthurHenderson does not? Do you cry, "The world for the workers!" and do you

imagine Philip Snowden would not? What we need is a name that shalldeclare, not that the modern treason and tyranny are bad, but that they arequite literally, intolerable: and that we mean to act accordingly. I really think

"the Limits" would be as good a name as any. But, anyhow, something is born

among us that is as strong as an infant Hercules: and it is part of my prejudicesto want it christened. I advertise for godfathers and godmothers.

A WORKMAN'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND

A thing which does not exist and which is very much wanted is "A Working-

Man's History of England." I do not mean a history written for working men(there are whole dustbins of them), I mean a history, written by working men

or from the working men's standpoint. I wish five generations of a fisher's or aminer's family could incarnate themselves in one man and tell the story.

It is impossible to ignore altogether any comment coming from so eminent a

literary artist as Mr. Laurence Housman, but I do not deal here so speciallywith his well known conviction about Votes for Women, as with another ideawhich is, I think, rather at the back of it, if not with him at least with others;

and which concerns this matter of the true story of England. For the true story

is so entirely different from the false official story that the official classes tellthat by this time the working class itself has largely forgotten its own

experience. Either story can be quite logically linked up with FemaleSuffrage, which, therefore, I leave where it is for the moment; merely

confessing that, so long as we get hold of the right story and not the wrong

story, it seems to me a matter of secondary importance whether we link it up

with Female Suffrage or not.



Now the ordinary version of recent English history that most moderately

educated people have absorbed from childhood is something like this. That weemerged slowly from a semi-barbarism in which all the power and wealth

were in the hands of Kings and a few nobles; that the King's power was broken first and then in due time that of the nobles, that this piece-meal

improvement was brought about by one class after another waking up to a

sense of citizenship and demanding a place in the national councils, frequently by riot or violence; and that in consequence of such menacing popular action,the franchise was granted to one class after another and used more and more

to improve the social conditions of those classes, until we practically became

a democracy, save for such exceptions as that of the women. I do not thinkanyone will deny that something like that is the general idea of the educated

man who reads a newspaper and of the newspaper that he reads. That is the

view current at public schools and colleges; it is part of the culture of all the

classes that count for much in government; and there is not one word of truthin it from beginning to end.

That Great Reform Bill

Wealth and political power were very much more popularly distributed in the

Middle Ages than they are now; but we will pass all that and consider recenthistory. The franchise has never been largely and liberally granted in England;

half the males have no vote and are not likely to get one. It was never granted

in reply to pressure from awakened sections of the democracy; in every casethere was a perfectly clear motive for granting it solely for the convenience ofthe aristocrats. The Great Reform Bill was not passed in response to such riots

as that which destroyed a Castle; nor did the men who destroyed the Castle getany advantage whatever out of the Great Reform Bill. The Great Reform Bill

was passed in order to seal an alliance between the landed aristocrats and therich manufacturers of the north (an alliance that rules us still); and the chief

object of that alliance was to prevent the English populace getting any

political power in the general excitement after the French Revolution. No onecan read Macaulay's speech on the Chartists, for instance, and not see that this

is so. Disraeli's further extension of the suffrage was not effected by theintellectual vivacity and pure republican theory of the mid-Victorianagricultural labourer; it was effected by a politician who saw an opportunity todish the Whigs, and guessed that certain orthodoxies in the more prosperous

artisan might yet give him a balance against the commercial Radicals. Andwhile this very thin game of wire-pulling with the mere abstraction of the vote

was being worked entirely by the oligarchs and entirely in their interests, thesolid and real thing that was going on was the steady despoiling of the poor of

all power or wealth, until they find themselves to-day upon the threshold of

slavery. That is The Working Man's History of England.



Now, as I have said, I care comparatively little what is done with the mere

voting part of the matter, so long as it is not claimed in such a way as to allowthe plutocrat to escape his responsibility for his crimes, by pretending to be

much more progressive, or much more susceptible to popular protest, than heever has been. And there is this danger in many of those who have answered

me. One of them, for instance, says that women have been forced into their

present industrial situations by the same iron economic laws that havecompelled men. I say that men have not been compelled by iron economiclaws, but in the main by the coarse and Christless cynicism of other men. But,

of course, this way of talking is exactly in accordance with the fashionable

and official version of English history. Thus, you will read that themonasteries, places where men of the poorest origin could be powerful, grew

corrupt and gradually decayed. Or you will read that the mediaeval guilds of

free workmen yielded at last to an inevitable economic law. You will read

this; and you will be reading lies. They might as well say that Julius Caesargradually decayed at the foot of Pompey's statue. You might as well say thatAbraham Lincoln yielded at last to an inevitable economic law. The free

mediaeval guilds did not decay; they were murdered. Solid men with solidguns and halberds, armed with lawful warrants from living statesmen broke uptheir corporations and took away their hard cash from them. In the same way

the people in Cradley Heath are no more victims of a necessary economic law

than the people in Putumayo. They are victims of a very terrible creature, ofwhose sins much has been said since the beginning of the world; and of whom

it was said of old, "Let us fall into the hands of God, for His mercies are great; but let us not fall into the hands of Man."

The Capitalist Is in the Dock

Now it is this offering of a false economic excuse for the sweater that is thedanger in perpetually saying that the poor woman will use the vote and that

the poor man has not used it. The poor man is prevented from using it;

prevented by the rich man, and the poor woman would be prevented in exactlythe same gross and stringent style. I do not deny, of course, that there is

something in the English temperament, and in the heritage of the last fewcenturies that makes the English workman more tolerant of wrong than mostforeign workmen would be. But this only slightly modifies the main fact ofthe moral responsibility. To take an imperfect parallel, if we said that negro

slaves would have rebelled if negroes had been more intelligent, we should besaying what is reasonable. But if we were to say that it could by any

possibility be represented as being the negro's fault that he was at that momentin America and not in Africa, we should be saying what is frankly

unreasonable. It is every bit as unreasonable to say the mere supineness of the

English workmen has put them in the capitalist slave-yard. The capitalist has put them in the capitalist slaveyard; and very cunning smiths have hammered



the chains. It is just this creative criminality in the authors of the system that

we must not allow to be slurred over. The capitalist is in the dock to-day; andso far as I at least can prevent him, he shall not get out of it.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND THE IRISH

It will be long before the poison of the Party System is worked out of the body

politic. Some of its most indirect effects are the most dangerous. One that isvery dangerous just now is this: that for most Englishmen the Party System

falsifies history, and especially the history of revolutions. It falsifies history because it simplifies history. It paints everything either Blue or Buff in the

style of its own silly circus politics: while a real revolution has as many

colours as the sunrise — or the end of the world. And if we do not get rid of

this error we shall make very bad blunders about the real revolution whichseems to grow more and more probable, especially among the Irish. And any

human familiarity with history will teach a man this first of all: that Party practically does not exist in a real revolution. It is a game for quiet times.

If you take a boy who has been to one of those big private schools which are

falsely called the Public Schools, and another boy who has been to one ofthose large public schools which are falsely called the Board Schools, you willfind some differences between the two, chiefly a difference in the

management of the voice. But you will find they are both English in a specialway, and that their education has been essentially the same. They are ignoranton the same subjects. They have never heard of the same plain facts. They

have been taught the wrong answer to the same confusing question. There is

one fundamental element in the attitude of the Eton master talking about"playing the game," and the elementary teacher training gutter-snipes to sing,

"What is the Meaning of Empire Day?" And the name of that element is"unhistoric." It knows nothing really about England, still less about Ireland or

France, and, least of all, of course, about anything like the French Revolution.

Revolution by Snap Division

Now what general notion does the ordinary English boy, thus taught to utter

one ignorance in one of two accents, get and keep through life about the

French Revolution? It is the notion of the English House of Commons with anenormous Radical majority on one side of the table and a small Tory minority

on the other; the majority voting solid for a Republic, the minority voting

solid for a Monarchy; two teams tramping through two lobbies with nodifference between their methods and ours, except that (owing to some habit

peculiar to Gaul) the brief intervals were brightened by a riot or a massacre,instead of by a whisky and soda and a Marconi tip. Novels are much more



reliable than histories in such matters. For though an English novel about

France does not tell the truth about France, it does tell the truth aboutEngland; and more than half the histories never tell the truth about anything.

And popular fiction, I think, bears witness to the general English impression.The French Revolution is a snap division with an unusual turnover of votes.

On the one side stand a king and queen who are good but weak, surrounded by

nobles with rapiers drawn; some of whom are good, many of whom arewicked, all of whom are good-looking. Against these there is a formless mobof human beings, wearing red caps and seemingly insane, who all blindly

follow ruffians who are also rhetoricians; some of whom die repentant and

others unrepentant towards the end of the fourth act. The leaders of this boiling mass of all men melted into one are called Mirabeau, Robespierre,

Danton, Marat, and so on. And it is conceded that their united frenzy may

have been forced on them by the evils of the old regime.

That, I think, is the commonest English view of the French Revolution; and it

will not survive the reading of two pages of any real speech or letter of the period. These human beings were human; varied, complex and inconsistent.But the rich Englishman, ignorant of revolutions, would hardly believe you if

you told him some of the common human subtleties of the case. Tell him that

Robespierre threw the red cap in the dirt in disgust, while the king had worn itwith a broad grin, so to speak; tell him that Danton, the fierce founder of the

Republic of the Terror, said quite sincerely to a noble, "I am more monarchistthan you;" tell him that the Terror really seems to have been brought to an end

chiefly by the efforts of people who particularly wanted to go on with it — andhe will not believe these things. He will not believe them because he has nohumility, and therefore no realism. He has never been inside himself; and so

could never be inside another man. The truth is that in the French affair

everybody occupied an individual position. Every man talked sincerely, if not because he was sincere, then because he was angry. Robespierre talked even

more about God than about the Republic because he cared even more aboutGod than about the Republic. Danton talked even more about France than

about the Republic because he cared even more about France than about the

Republic. Marat talked more about Humanity than either, because that physician (though himself somewhat needing a physician) really cared aboutit. The nobles were divided, each man from the next. The attitude of the king

was quite different from the attitude of the queen; certainly much more

different than any differences between our Liberals and Tories for the last

twenty years. And it will sadden some of my friends to remember that it wasthe king who was the Liberal and the queen who was the Tory. There were not

two people, I think, in that most practical crisis who stood in precisely the

same attitude towards the situation. And that is why, between them, theysaved Europe. It is when you really perceive the unity of mankind that you

really perceive its variety. It is not a flippancy, it is a very sacred truth, to say



that when men really understand that they are brothers they instantly begin to

fight.

The Revival of Reality

Now these things are repeating themselves with an enormous reality in the

Irish Revolution. You will not be able to make a Party System out of the

matter. Everybody is in revolt; therefore everybody is telling the truth. The Nationalists will go on caring most for the nation, as Danton and the defenders

of the frontier went on caring most for the nation. The priests will go oncaring most for religion, as Robespierre went on caring most for religion. The

Socialists will go on caring most for the cure of physical suffering, as Marat

went on caring most for it. It is out of these real differences that real thingscan be made, such as the modern French democracy. For by such tenacity

everyone sees at last that there is something in the other person's position.

And those drilled in party discipline see nothing either past or present. Andwhere there is nothing there is Satan.

For a long time past in our politics there has not only been no real battle, but

no real bargain. No two men have bargained as Gladstone and Parnell bargained — each knowing the other to be a power. But in real revolutions men

discover that no one man can really agree with another man until he has

disagreed with him.

LIBERALISM: A SAMPLE

There is a certain daily paper in England towards which I feel very much as

Tom Pinch felt towards Mr. Pecksniff immediately after he had found him

out. The war upon Dickens was part of the general war on all democrats,about the eighties and nineties, which ushered in the brazen plutocracy of to-

day. And one of the things that it was fashionable to say of Dickens in

drawing-rooms was that he had no subtlety, and could not describe a complexframe of mind. Like most other things that are said in drawing-rooms, it was a

lie. Dickens was a very unequal writer, and his successes alternate with hisfailures; but his successes are subtle quite as often as they are simple. Thus, to

take "Martin Chuzzlewit" alone, I should call the joke about the Lord No-zoo

a simple joke: but I should call the joke about Mrs. Todgers's vision of awooden leg a subtle joke. And no frame of mind was ever so selfcontradictory

and yet so realistic as that which Dickens describes when he says, in effect,

that, though Pinch knew now that there had never been such a person asPecksniff, in his ideal sense, he could not bring himself to insult the very face

and form that had contained the legend. The parallel with Liberal journalismis not perfect; because it was once honest; and Pecksniff presumably never



was. And even when I come to feel a final incompatibility of temper,

Pecksniff was not so Pecksniffian as he has since become. But the comparisonis complete in so far as I share all the reluctance of Mr. Pinch. Some old

heathen king was advised by one of the Celtic saints, I think, to burn what hehad adored and adore what he had burnt. I am quite ready, if anyone will

prove I was wrong, to adore what I have burnt; but I do really feel an

unwillingness verging upon weakness to burning what I have adored. I think itis a weakness to be overcome in times as bad as these, when (as Mr. Oragewrote with something like splendid common sense the other day) there is such

a lot to do and so few people who will do it. So I will devote this article to

considering one case of the astounding baseness to which Liberal journalismhas sunk.

Mental Breakdown in Fleet Street

One of the two or three streaks of light on our horizon can be perceived inthis: that the moral breakdown of these papers has been accompanied by a

mental breakdown also. The contemporary official paper, like the "Daily

News" or the "Daily Chronicle" (I mean in so far as it deals with politics),simply cannot argue; and simply does not pretend to argue. It considers the

solution which it imagines that wealthy people want, and it signifies the samein the usual manner; which is not by holding up its hand, but by falling on its

face. But there is no more curious quality in its degradation than a sort of

carelessness, at once of hurry and fatigue, with which it flings down itsargument — or rather its refusal to argue. It does not even write sophistry: itwrites anything. It does not so much poison the reader's mind as simply

assume that the reader hasn't got one. For instance, one of these papers printedan article on Sir Stuart Samuel, who, having broken the great Liberal statute

against corruption, will actually, perhaps, be asked to pay his own fine — inspite of the fact that he can well afford to do so. The article says, if I

remember aright, that the decision will cause general surprise and some

indignation. That any modern Government making a very rich capitalist obeythe law will cause general surprise, may be true. Whether it will cause general

indignation rather depends on whether our social intercourse is entirelyconfined to Park Lane, or any such pigsties built of gold. But the journalist

proceeds to say, his neck rising higher and higher out of his collar, and hishair rising higher and higher on his head, in short, his resemblance to the

Dickens' original increasing every instant, that he does not mean that the lawagainst corruption should be less stringent, but that the burden should be

borne by the whole community. This may mean that whenever a rich man breaks the law, all the poor men ought to be made to pay his fine. But I will

suppose a slightly less insane meaning. I will suppose it means that the whole

power of the commonwealth should be used to prosecute an offender of thiskind. That, of course, can only mean that the matter will be decided by that



instrument which still pretends to represent the whole power of the

commonwealth. In other words, the Government will judge the Government.

Now this is a perfectly plain piece of brute logic. We need not go into theother delicious things in the article, as when it says that "in old times

Parliament had to be protected against Royal invasion by the man in thestreet." Parliament has to be protected now against the man in the street.Parliament is simply the most detested and the most detestable of all our

national institutions: all that is evident enough. What is interesting is the blank

and staring fallacy of the attempted reply.

When the Journalist Is Ruined

A long while ago, before all the Liberals died, a Liberal introduced a Bill to

prevent Parliament being merely packed with the slaves of financial interests.For that purpose he established the excellent democratic principle that the

private citizen, as such, might protest against public corruption. He was called

the Common Informer. I believe the miserable party papers are really reducedto playing on the degradation of the two words in modern language. Now the

word "comnon" in "Common Informer" means exactly what it means in"common sense" or "Book of Common Prayer," or (above all) in "House of

Commons." It does not mean anything low or vulgar; any more than they do.

The only difference is that the House of Commons really is low and vulgar;

and the Common Informer isn't. It is just the same with the word "Informer."It does not mean spy or sneak. It means one who gives information. It means

what "journalist" ought to mean. The only difference is that the CommonInformer may be paid if he tells the truth. The common journalist will beruined if he does.

Now the quite plain point before the party journalist is this: If he really meansthat a corrupt bargain between a Government and a contractor ought to be

judged by public opinion, he must (nowadays) mean Parliament; that is, the

caucus that controls Parliament. And he must decide between one of two

views. Either he means that there can be no such thing as a corruptGovernment. Or he means that it is one of the characteristic qualities of a

corrupt Government to denounce its own corruption. I laugh; and I leave himhis choice.

THE FATIGUE OF FLEET STREET

Why is the modern party political journalism so bad? It is worse even than it

intends to be. It praises its preposterous party leaders through thick and thin; but it somehow succeeds in making them look greater fools than they are. This



clumsiness clings even to the photographs of public men, as they are

snapshotted at public meetings. A sensitive politician (if there is such a thing)would, I should think, want to murder the man who snapshots him at those

moments. For our general impression of a man's gesture or play of feature ismade up of a series of vanishing instants, at any one of which he may look

worse than our general impression records. Mr. Augustine Birrell may have

made quite a sensible and amusing speech, in the course of which his audiencewould hardly have noticed that he resettled his necktie. Snapshot him, and heappears as convulsively clutching his throat in the agonies of strangulation,

and with his head twisted on one side as if he had been hanged. Sir Edward

Carson might make a perfectly good speech, which no one thoughtwearisome, but might himself be just tired enough to shift from one leg to the

other. Snapshot him, and he appears as holding one leg stiffly in the air and

yawning enough to swallow the audience. But it is in the prose narratives of

the Press that we find most manifestations of this strange ineptitude; thisknack of exhibiting your own favourites in an unlucky light. It is not so muchthat the party journalists do not tell the truth as that they tell just enough of it

to make it clear that they are telling lies. One of their favourite blunders is anamazing sort of bathos. They begin by telling you that some statesman saidsomething brilliant in style or biting in wit, at which his hearers thrilled with

terror or thundered with applause. And then they tell you what it was that he

said. Silly asses!

Insane Exaggeration

Here is an example from a leading Liberal paper touching the debates on

Home Rule. I am a Home Ruler; so my sympathies would be, if anything, onthe side of the Liberal paper upon that point. I merely quote it as an example

of this ridiculous way of writing, which, by insane exaggeration, actuallymakes its hero look smaller than he is.

This was strange language to use about the "hypocritical sham," and Mr.Asquith, knowing that the biggest battle of his career was upon him, hit back

without mercy. "I should like first to know," said he, with a glance at hissupporters, "whether my proposals are accepted?"

That's all. And I really do not see why poor Mr. Asquith should be represented

as having violated the Christian virtue of mercy by saying that. I myself could

compose a great many paragraphs upon the same model, each containing itsstinging and perhaps unscrupulous epigram. As, for example: — "The

Archbishop of Canterbury, realising that his choice now lay between denyingGod and earning the crown of martyrdom by dying in torments, spoke with afrenzy of religious passion that might have seemed fanatical under

circumstances less intense. 'The Children's Service,' he said firmly, with his



face to the congregation, 'will be held at half-past four this afternoon as

usual.'"

Or, we might have: — "Lord Roberts, recognising that he had now to faceArmageddon, and that if he lost this last battle against overwhelming odds the

independence of England would be extinguished forever, addressed to hissoldiers (looking at them and not falling off his horse) a speech which broughttheir national passions to boiling point, and might well have seemed blood-

thirsty in quieter times. It ended with the celebrated declaration that it was a

fine day."

Or we might have the much greater excitement of reading something like

this: — "The Astronomer Royal, having realised that the earth would certainly

be smashed to pieces by a comet unless his requests in connection with

wireless telegraphy were seriously considered, gave an address at the RoyalSociety which, under other circumstances, would have seemed unduly

dogmatic and emotional and deficient in scientific agnosticism. This address(which he delivered without any attempt to stand on his head) included a

fierce and even ferocious declaration that it is generally easier to see the stars by night than by day."

Now, I cannot see, on my conscience and reason, that any one of myimaginary paragraphs is more ridiculous than the real one. Nobody can

believe that Mr. Asquith regards these belated and careful compromises about

Home Rule as "the biggest battle of his career." It is only justice to him to saythat he has had bigger battles than that. Nobody can believe that any body of

men, bodily present, either thundered or thrilled at a man merely saying that

he would like to know whether his proposals were accepted. No; it would be

far better for Parliament if its doors were shut again, and reporters wereexcluded. In that case, the outer public did hear genuine rumours of almostgigantic eloquence; such as that which has perpetuated Pitt's reply against the

charge of youth, or Fox's bludgeoning of the idea of war as a compromise. Itwould be much better to follow the old fashion and let in no reporters at allthan to follow the new fashion and select the stupidest reporters you can find.

Their Load of Lies

Now, why do people in Fleet-street talk such tosh? People in Fleet-street arenot fools. Most of them have realised reality through work; some through

starvation; some through damnation, or something damnably like it. I think it

is simply and seriously true that they are tired of their job. As the general saidin M. Rostand's play, "la fatigue!"

I do really believe that this is one of the ways in which God (don't get flurried, Nature if you like) is unexpectedly avenged on things infamous and



unreasonable. And this method is that men's moral and even physical tenacity

actually give out under such a load of lies. They go on writing their leadingarticles and their Parliamentary reports. They go on doing it as a convict goes

on picking oakum. But the point is not that we are bored with their articles;the point is that they are. The work is done worse because it is done weakly

and without human enthusiasm. And it is done weakly because of the truth we

have told so many times in this book: that it is not done for monarchy, forwhich men will die; or for democracy, for which men will die; or even foraristocracy, for which many men have died. It is done for a thing called

Capitalism: which stands out quite clearly in history in many curious ways.

But the most curious thing about it is that no man has loved it; and no mandied for it.

THE AMNESTY FOR AGGRESSION

If there is to rise out of all this red ruin something like a republic of justice, itis essential that our views should be real views; that is, glimpses of lives and

landscapes outside ourselves. It is essential that they should not be mere

opium visions that begin and end in smoke — and so often in cannon smoke. Imake no apology, therefore, for returning to the purely practical and realistic

point I urged last week: the fact that we shall lose everything we might havegained if we lose the idea that the responsible person is responsible.

For instance, it is almost specially so with the one or two things in which theBritish Government, or the British public, really are behaving badly. The first,

and worst of them, is the non-extension of the Moratorium, or truce of debtor

and creditor, to the very world where there are the poorest debtors and thccruellest creditors. This is infamous: and should be, if possible, more

infamous to those who think the war right than to those who think it wrong.Everyone knows that the people who can least pay their debts are the people

who are always trying to. Among the poor a payment may be as rash as aspeculation. Among the rich a bankruptcy may be as safe as a bank.

Considering the class from which private soldiers are taken, there is anatrocious meanness in the idea of buying their blood abroad, while we sell

their sticks at home. The English language, by the way, is full of delicate paradoxes. We talk of the private soldiers because they are really public

soldiers; and we talk of the public schools because they are really private

schools. Anyhow, the wrong is of the sort that ought to be resisted, as much inwar as in peace.

Ought to Be Hammered



But as long as we speak of it as a cloudy conclusion, come to by an

anonymous club called Parliament, or a masked tribunal called the Cabinet,we shall never get such a wrong righted. Somebody is officially responsible

for the unfairness; and that somebody ought to be hammered. The otherexample, less important but more ludicrous, is the silly boycott of Germans in

England, extending even to German music. I do not believe for a moment that

the English people feel any such insane fastidiousness. Are the English artistswho practise the particularly English art of water-colour to be forbidden to usePrussian blue? Are all old ladies to shoot their Pomeranian dogs? But though

England would laugh at this, she will get the credit of it, and will continue:

until we ask who the actual persons are who feel sure that we should shudderat a ballad of the Rhine. It is certain that we should find they are capitalists. It

is very probable that we should find they are foreigners.

Some days ago the Official Council of the Independent Labour Party, or theIndependent Council of the Official Labour Party, or the Independent and

Official Council of the Labour Party (I have got quite nervous about thesenames and distinctions; but they all seem to say the same thing) began theirmanifesto by saying it would be difficult to assign the degrees of

responsibility which each nation had for the outbreak of the war. Afterwards,

a writer in the "Christian Commonwealth," lamenting war in the name ofLabour, but in the language of my own romantic middle-class, said that all the

nations must share the responsibility for this great calamity of war. Nowexactly as long as we go on talking like that we shall have war after war, and

calamity after calamity, until the crack of doom. It simply amounts to a promise of pardon to any person who will start a quarrel. It is an amnesty forassassins. The moment any man assaults any other man he makes all the other

men as bad as himself. He has only to stab, and to vanish in a fog of

forgetfulness. The real eagles of iron, the predatory Empires, will be delightedwith this doctrine. They will applaud the Labour Concert or Committee, or

whatever it is called. They will willingly take all the crime, with only a quarterof the conscience: they will be as ready to share the memory as they are to

share the spoil. The Powers will divide responsibility as calmly as they

divided Poland.

The Whole Loathsome Load

But I still stubbornly and meekly submit my point: that you cannot end warwithout asking who began it. If you think somebody else, not Germany, began

it, then blame that somebody else: do not blame everybody and nobody.Perhaps you think that a small sovereign people, fresh from two triumphant

wars, ought to discrown itself before sunrise; because the nephew of a

neighbouring Emperor has been shot by his own subjects. Very well. Then blame Servia; and, to the extent of your influence, you may be preventing



small kingdoms being obstinate or even princes being shot. Perhaps you think

the whole thing was a huge conspiracy of Russia, with France as a dupe andServia as a pretext. Very well. Then blame Russia; and, to the extent of your

influence, you may be preventing great Empires from making racial excusesfor a raid. Perhaps you think France wrong for feeling what you call

"revenge," and I should call recovery of stolen goods. Perhaps you blame

Belgium for being sentimental about her frontier; or England for beingsentimental about her word. If so, blame them; or whichever of them youthink is to blame. Or again, it is barely possible that you may think, as I do,

that the whole loathsome load has been laid upon us by the monarchy which I

have not named; still less wasted time in abusing. But if there be in Europe amilitary State which has not the religion of Russia, yet has helped Russia to

tyrannise over the Poles, that State cares not for religion, but for tyranny. If

there be a State in Europe which has not the religion of the Austrians, but has

helped Austria to bully the Servians, that State cares not for belief, but for bullying. If there be in Europe any people or principality which respectsneither republics nor religions, to which the political ideal of Paris is as much

a myth as the mystical ideal of Moscow, then blame that: and do more than blame. In the healthy and highly theological words of Robert Blatchford, driveit back to the Hell from which it came.

Crying Over Spilt Blood

But whatever you do, do not blame everybody for what was certainly done bysomebody. It may be it is no good crying over spilt blood, any more than overspilt milk. But we do not find the culprit any more by spilling the milk over

everybody; or by daubing everybody with blood. Still less do we improvematters by watering the milk with our tears, nor the blood either. To say that

everybody is responsible means that nobody is responsible. If in the future wesee Russia annexing Rutland (as part of the old Kingdom of Muscovy), if we

see Bavaria taking a sudden fancy to the Bank of England, or the King of the

Cannibal Islands suddenly demanding a tribute of edible boys and girls fromEngland and America, we may be quite certain also that the Leader of the

Labour Party will rise, with a slight cough, and say: "It would be a difficulttask to apportion the blame between the various claims which…"

REVIVE THE COURT JESTER

I hope the Government will not think just now about appointing a Poet

Laureate. I hardly think they can be altogether in the right mood. The business

just now before the country makes a very good detective story; but as a

national epic it is a little depressing. Jingo literature always weakens a nation; but even healthy patriotic literature has its proper time and occasion. For



instance, Mr. Newbolt (who has been suggested for the post) is a very fine

poet; but I think his patriotic lyrics would just now rather jar upon a patriot.We are rather too much concerned about our practical seamanship to feel quite

confident that Drake will return and "drum them up the Channel as hedrummed them long ago." On the contrary, we have an uncomfortable feeling

that Drake's ship might suddenly go to the bottom, because the capitalists have

made Lloyd George abolish the Plimsoll Line. One could not, without beingunderstood ironically, adjure the two party teams to-day to "play up, play upand play the game," or to "love the game more than the prize." And there is no

national hero at this moment in the soldiering line — unless, perhaps, it is

Major Archer-Shee — of whom anyone would be likely to say: "Sed miles; sed pro patria." There is, indeed, one beautiful poem of Mr. Newbolt's which may

mingle faintly with one's thoughts in such times, but that, alas, is to a very

different tune. I mean that one in which he echoes Turner's conception of the

old wooden ship vanishing with all the valiant memories of the English:

There's a far bell ringingAt the setting of the sun,

And a phantom voice is singing

Of the great days done.There's a far bell ringing,

And a phantom voice is singingOf a fame forever clinging

To the great days done.For the sunset breezes shiver,Temeraire, Temeraire,

And she's fading down the river….

Well, well, neither you nor I know whether she is fading down the river ornot. It is quite enough for us to know, as King Alfred did, that a great many

pirates have landed on both banks of the Thames.

Praise and Prophecy Impossible

At this moment that is the only kind of patriotic poem that could satisfy theemotions of a patriotic person. But it certainly is not the sort of poem that is

expected from a Poet Laureate, either on the highest or the lowest theory of

his office. He is either a great minstrel singing the victories of a great king, orhe is a common Court official like the Groom of the Powder Closet. In the

first case his praises should be true; in the second case they will nearly always be false; but in either case he must praise. And what there is for him to praise

just now it would be precious hard to say. And if there is no great hope of areal poet, there is still less hope of a real prophet. What Newman called, I



more established custom to obey an Act of Parliament and to keep the peace.

It may be argued that extreme misgovernment justifies men in Ulster orelsewhere in refusing to obey the law. But then it would justify them even

more in refusing to appear professionally in a law court. Etiquette cannot be atonce so unimportant that Carson may shoot at the King's uniform, and yet so

important that he must always be ready to put on his own. The Government

cannot be so disreputable that Carson need not lay down his gun, and yet sorespectable that he is bound to put on his wig. Carson cannot at once be sofierce that he can kill in what he considers a good cause, and yet so meek that

he must argue in what he considers a bad cause. Obedience or disobedience,

conventional or unconventional, a solicitor's letter cannot be more sacred thanthe King's writ; a blue bag cannot be more rational than the British flag. The

thing is rubbish read anyway, and the only difficulty is to get a joke good

enough to express it. It is a case for the Court Jester. The phantasy of it could

only be expressed by some huge ceremonial hoax. Carson ought to becrowned with the shamrocks and emeralds and followed by green-cladminstrels of the Clan-na-Gael, playing "The Wearing of the Green."

Belated Chattiness by Wireless

But all the recent events are like that. They are practical jokes. The jokes donot need to be made: they only need to be pointed out. You and I do not talk

and act as the Isaacs brothers talked and acted, by their own most favourable

account of themselves; and even their account of themselves was by no meansfavourable. You and I do not talk of meeting our own born brother "at afamily function" as if he were some infinitely distant cousin whom we only

met at Christmas. You and I, when we suddenly feel inclined for a chat withthe same brother about his dinner and the Coal Strike, do not generally select

either wireless telegraphy or the Atlantic Cable as the most obvious andeconomical channel for that outburst of belated chattiness. You and I do not

talk, if it is proposed to start a railway between Catsville and Dogtown, as if

the putting up of a station at Dogtown could have no kind of economic effecton the putting up of a station at Catsville. You and I do not think it candid to

say that when we are at one end of a telephone we have no sort of connectionwith the other end. These things have got into the region of farce; and should

be dealt with farcically, not even ferociously.

A Fool Who Shall Be Free

In the Roman Republic there was a Tribune of the People, whose person was

inviolable like an ambassador's. There was much the same idea in Becket'sattempt to remove the Priest, who was then the popular champion, from the

ordinary courts. We shall have no Tribune; for we have no republic. We shall



have no Priest; for we have no religion. The best we deserve or can expect is a

Fool who shall be free; and who shall deliver us with laughter.

THE ART OF MISSING THE POINT

Missing the point is a very fine art; and has been carried to something like

perfection by politicians and Pressmen to-day. For the point is generally a

very sharp point; and is, moreover, sharp at both ends. That is to say that both parties would probably impale themselves in an uncomfortable manner if they

did not manage to avoid it altogether. I have just been looking at the electionaddress of the official Liberal candidate for the part of the country in which I

live; and though it is, if anything, rather more logical and free from cant than

most other documents of the sort it is an excellent example of missing the point. The candidate has to go boring on about Free Trade and Land Reform

and Education; and nobody reading it could possibly imagine that in the townof Wycombe, where the poll will be declared, the capital of the Wycombedivision of Bucks which the candidate is contesting, centre of the important

and vital trade on which it has thriven, a savage struggle about justice has

been raging for months past between the poor and rich, as real as the FrenchRevolution. The man offering himself at Wycombe as representative of the

Wycombe division simply says nothing about it at all. It is as if a man at the

crisis of the French Terror had offered himself as a deputy for the town ofParis, and had said nothing about the Monarchy, nothing about the Republic,

nothing about the massacres, nothing about the war; but had explained withgreat clearness his views on the suppression of the Jansenists, the literary style

of Racine, the suitability of Turenae for the post of commander-in-chief, and

the religious reflections of Madame de Maintenon. For, at their best, thecandidate's topics are not topical. Home Rule is a very good thing, and

modern education is a very bad thing; but neither of them are things thatanybody is talking about in High Wycombe. This is the first and simplest way

of missing the point: deliberately to avoid and ignore it.

The Candid Candidate

It would be an amusing experiment, by the way, to go to the point instead of

avoiding it. What fun it would be to stand as a strict Party candidate, but issue

a perfectly frank and cynical Election Address. Mr. Mosley's address begins,"Gentlemen, — Sir Alfred Cripps having been chosen for a high judicial

position and a seat in the House of Lords, a by-election now becomes

necessary, and the electors of South Bucks are charged with the responsible

duty of electing, etc., etc." But suppose there were another candidate whoseelection address opened in a plain, manly style, like this: "Gentlemen, — In the



sincere hope of being myself chosen for a high judicial position or a seat in

the House of Lords, or considerably increasing my private fortune by someGovernment appointment, or, at least, inside information about the financial

prospects, I have decided that it is worth my while to disburse large sums ofmoney to you on various pretexts, and, with even more reluctance to endure

the bad speaking and bad ventilation of the Commons' House of Parliament,

so help me God. I have very pronounced convictions on various politicalquestions; but I will not trouble my fellow-citizens with them, since I havequite made up my mind to abandon any or all of them if requested to do so by

the upper classes. The electors are therefore charged with the entirely

irresponsible duty of electing a Member; or, in other words, I ask myneighbours round about this part, who know I am not a bad chap in many

ways, to do me a good turn in my business, just as I might ask them to change

a sovereign. My election will have no conceivable kind of effect on anything

or anybody except myself; so I ask, as man to man, the Electors of theSouthern or Wycombe Division of the County of Buckingham to accept a ridein one of my motor-cars; and poll early to please a pal — God Save the King."

I do not know whether you or I would be elected if we presented ourselveswith an election address of that kind; but we should have had our fun and(comparatively speaking) saved our souls; and I have a strong suspicion that

we should be elected or rejected on a mechanical majority like anybody else;

nobody having dreamed of reading an election address any more than anadvertisement of a hair restorer.

Tyranny and Head-Dress

But there is another and more subtle way in which we may miss the point; andthat is, not by keeping a dead silence about it, but by being just witty enough

to state it wrong. Thus, some of the Liberal official papers have almostscrewed up their courage to the sticking-point about the bestial coup d'etat in

South Africa. They have screwed up their courage to the sticking-point; and it

has stuck. It cannot get any further; because it has missed the main point. Themodern Liberals make their feeble attempts to attack the introduction of

slavery into South Africa by the Dutch and the Jews, by a very typical evasionof the vital fact. The vital fact is simply slavery. Most of these Dutchmen havealways felt like slave-owners. Most of these Jews have always felt like slaves.

Now that they are on top, they have a particular and curious kind of

impudence, which is only known among slaves. But the Liberal journalistswill do their best to suggest that the South African wrong consisted in what

they call Martial Law. That is, that there is something specially wicked aboutmen doing an act of cruelty in khaki or in vermilion, but not if it is done in

dark blue with pewter buttons. The tyrant who wears a busby or a forage cap

is abominable; the tyrant who wears a horsehair wig is excusable. To be judged by soldiers is hell; but to be judged by lawyers is paradise.



Now the point must not be missed in this way. What is wrong with the

tyranny in Africa is not that it is run by soldiers. It would be quite as bad, orworse, if it were run by policemen. What is wrong is that, for the first time

since Pagan times, private men are being forced to work for a private man.Men are being punished by imprisonment or exile for refusing to accept a job.

The fact that Botha can ride on a horse, or fire off a gun, makes him better

rather than worse than any man like Sidney Webb or Philip Snowden, whoattempt the same slavery by much less manly methods. The Liberal Party willtry to divert the whole discussion to one about what they call militarism. But

the very terms of modern politics contradict it. For when we talk of real rebels

against the present system we call them Militants. And there will be none inthe Servile State.

THE SERVILE STATE AGAIN

I read the other day, in a quotation from a German newspaper, the highlycharacteristic remark that Germany having annexed Belgium would soon re-

establish its commerce and prosperity, and that, in particular, arrangements

were already being made for introducing into the new province the Germanlaws for the protection of workmen.

I am quite content with that paragraph for the purpose of any controversy

about what is called German atrocity. If men I know had not told me they hadthemselves seen the bayoneting of a baby; if the most respectable refugees didnot bring with them stories of burning cottages — yes, and of burning cottagers

as well; if doctors did not report what they do report of the condition of girls

in the hospitals; if there were no facts; if there were no photographs, that one phrase I have quoted would be quite sufficient to satisfy me that the Prussians

are tyrants; tyrants in a peculiar and almost insane sense which makes them pre-eminent among the evil princes of the earth. The first and most striking

feature is a stupidity that rises into a sort of ghastly innocence. The protectionof workmen! Some workmen, perhaps, might have a fancy for being protected

from shrapnel; some might be glad to put up an umbrella that would ward offthings dropping from the gentle Zeppelin in heaven upon the place beneath.

Some of these discontented proletarians have taken the same view asVandervelde their leader, and are now energetically engaged in protecting

themselves along the line of the Yser; I am glad to say not altogether without

success. It is probable that nearly all of the Belgian workers would, on thewhole, prefer to be protected against bombs, sabres, burning cities, starvation,

torture, and the treason of wicked kings. In short, it is probable — it is at least possible, impious as is the idea — that they would prefer to be protected

against Germans and all they represent. But if a Belgian workman is told thathe is not to be protected against Germans, but actually to be protected by



Germans, I think he may be excused for staring. His first impulse, I imagine,

will be to ask, "Against whom? Are there any worse people to come along?"

But apart from the hellish irony of this humanitarian idea, the question itraises is really one of solid importance for people whose politics are more or

less like ours. There is a very urgent point in that question, "Against whomwould the Belgian workmen be protected by the German laws?" And if we

pursue it, we shall be enabled to analyse something of that poison — very

largely a Prussian poison — which has long been working in our own

commonwealth, to the enslavement of the weak and the secret strengtheningof the strong. For the Prussian armies are, pre-eminently, the advance guard of

the Servile State. I say this scientifically, and quite apart from passion or evenfrom preference. I have no illusions about either Belgium or England. Both

have been stained with the soot of Capitalism and blinded with the smoke of

mere Colonial ambition; both have been caught at a disadvantage in suchmodern dirt and disorder; both have come out much better than I should have

expected countries so modern and so industrial to do. But in England andBelgium there is Capitalism mixed up with a great many other things, strongthings and things that pursue other aims; Clericalism, for instance, and

militant Socialism in Belgium; Trades Unionism and sport and the remains of

real aristocracy in England. But Prussia is Capitalism; that is, a graduallysolidifying slavery; and that majestic unity with which she moves, dragging

all the dumb Germanies after her, is due to the fact that her Servile State iscomplete, while ours is incomplete. There are not mutinies; there are not even

mockeries; the voice of national self-criticism has been extinguished forever.For this people is already permanently cloven into a higher and a lower class:in its industry as much as its army. Its employers are, in the strictest and most

sinister sense, captains of industry. Its proletariat is, in the truest and most

pitiable sense, an army of labour. In that atmosphere masters bear upon themthe signs that they are more than men; and to insult an officer is death.

If anyone ask how this extreme and unmistakable subordination of the

employed to the employers is brought about, we all know the answer. It is

brought about by hunger and hardness of heart, accelerated by a certain kindof legislation, of which we have had a good deal lately in England, but which

was almost invariably borrowed from Prussia. Mr. Herbert Samuel's

suggestion that the poor should be able to put their money in little boxes andnot be able to get it out again is a sort of standing symbol of all the rest. I have

forgotten how the poor were going to benefit eventually by what is for them

indistinguishable from dropping sixpence down a drain. Perhaps they were

going to get it back some day; perhaps when they could produce a hundredcoupons out of the Daily Citizen; perhaps when they got their hair cut;

perhaps when they consented to be inoculated, or trepanned, or circumcised,

or something. Germany is full of this sort of legislation; and if you asked an



innocent German, who honestly believed in it, what it was, he would answer

that it was for the protection of workmen.

And if you asked again "Their protection from what?" you would have thewhole plan and problem of the Servile State plain in front of you. Whatever

notion there is, there is no notion whatever of protecting the employed person from his employer . Much less is there any idea of his ever beinganywhere except under an employer. Whatever the Capitalist wants he gets.

He may have the sense to want washed and well-fed labourers rather than

dirty and feeble ones, and the restrictions may happen to exist in the form oflaws from the Kaiser or by-laws from the Krupps. But the Kaiser will not

offend the Krupps, and the Krupps will not offend the Kaiser. Laws of thiskind, then, do not attempt to protect workmen against the injustice of the

Capitalist as the English Trade Unions did. They do not attempt to protect

workmen against the injustice of the State as the mediaeval guilds did.Obviously they cannot protect workmen against the foreign invader —

especially when (as in the comic case of Belgium) they are imposed by theforeign invader. What then are such laws designed to protect workmenagainst? Tigers, rattlesnakes, hyenas?

Oh, my young friends; oh, my Christian brethren, they are designed to protect

this poor person from something which to those of established rank is morehorrid than many hyenas. They are designed, my friends, to protect a manfrom himself — from something that the masters of the earth fear more than

famine or war, and which Prussia especially fears as everything fears thatwhich would certainly be its end. They are meant to protect a man againsthimself — that is, they are meant to protect a man against his manhood.

And if anyone reminds me that there is a Socialist Party in Germany, I replythat there isn't.

THE EMPIRE OF THE IGNORANT

That anarchic future which the more timid Tories professed to fear has already

fallen upon us. We are ruled by ignorant people. But the most ignorant peoplein modern Britain are to be found in the upper class, the middle class, and

especially the upper middle class. I do not say it with the smallest petulance or

even distaste; these classes are often really beneficent in their breeding or theirhospitality, or their humanity to animals.

There is still no better company than the young at the two Universities, or the best of the old in the Army or some of the other services. Also, of course,

there are exceptions in the matter of learning; real scholars like ProfessorGilbert Murray or Professor Phillimore are not ignorant, though



they are gentlemen. But when one looks up at any mass of the wealthier and

more powerful classes, at the Grand Stand at Epsom, at the windows of Park-lane, at the people at a full-dress debate or a fashionable wedding, we shall be

safe in saying that they are, for the most part, the most ill-taught, or untaught,creatures in these islands.

Literally Illiterate

It is indeed their feeble boast that they are not literally illiterate. They are

always saying the ancient barons could not sign their own names — for theyknow less of history perhaps than of anything else. The modern barons,

however, can sign their own names — or someone else's for a change. They

can sign their own names; and that is about all they can do. They cannot face afact, or follow an argument, or feel a tradition; but, least of all, can they, upon

any persuasion, read through a plain impartial book, English or foreign, that is

not specially written to soothe their panic or to please their pride. Looking upat these seats of the mighty I can only say, with something of despair, what

Robert Lowe said of the enfranchised workmen: "We must educate our

masters."

I do not mean this as paradoxical, or even as symbolical; it is simply tame and

true. The modern English rich know nothing about things, not even about the

things to which they appeal. Compared with them, the poor are pretty sure to

get some enlightenment, even if they cannot get liberty; they must at least betechnical. An old apprentice learnt a trade, even if his master came like any

Turk and banged him most severely. The old housewife knew which side her bread was buttered, even if it were so thin as to be almost imperceptible. Theold sailor knew the ropes; even if he knew the rope's end. Consequently, when

any of these revolted, they were concerned with things they knew, pains,

practical impossibilities, or the personal record.

But They Know

The apprentice cried "Clubs?" and cracked his neighbours' heads with the precision and fineness of touch which only manual craftsmanship can give.

The housewives who flatly refused to cook the hot dinner knew how much or

how little, cold meat there was in the house. The sailor who defied discipline by mutinying at the Nore did not defy discipline in the sense of falling off the

rigging or letting the water into the hold. Similarly the modern proletariat,

however little it may know, knows what it is talking about.

But the curious thing about the educated class is that exactly what it does not

know is what it is talking about. I mean that it is startlingly ignorant of thosespecial things which it is supposed to invoke and keep inviolate. The things



that workmen invoke may be uglier, more acrid, more sordid; but they know

all about them. They know enough arithmetic to know that prices have risen;the kind Levantine gentleman is always there to make them fully understand

the meaning of an interest sum; and the landlord will define Rent as rigidly asRicardo. The doctors can always tell them the Latin for an empty stomach;

and when the poor man is treated for the time with some human respect (by

the Coronet) it almost seems a pity he is not alive to hear how legally he died.

Against this bitter shrewdness and bleak realism in the suffering classes it is

commonly supposed that the more leisured classes stand for certain legitimateideas which also have their place in life; such as history, reverence, the love of

the land. Well, it might be no bad thing to have something, even if it weresomething narrow, that testified to the truths of religion or patriotism. But

such narrow things in the past have always at least known their own history;

the bigot knew his catechism; the patriot knew his way home. The astonishingthing about the modern rich is their real and sincere ignorance — especially of

the things they like.

No!

Take the most topical case you can find in any drawing-room: Belfast. Ulster

is most assuredly a matter of history; and there is a sense in which Orange

resistance is a matter of religion. But go and ask any of the five hundred

fluttering ladies at a garden party (who find Carson so splendid and Belfast sothrilling) what it is all about, when it began, where it came from, what it really

maintains? What was the history of Ulster? What is the religion of Belfast?Do any of them know where Ulstermen were in Grattan's time; do any of themknow what was the "Protestantism" that came from Scotland to that isle; could

any of them tell what part of the old Catholic system it really denied?

It was generally something that the fluttering ladies find in their own Anglicanchurches every Sunday. It were vain to ask them to state the doctrines of the

Calvinist creed; they could not state the doctrines of their own creed. It were

vain to tell them to read the history of Ireland; they have never read thehistory of England. It would matter as little that they do not know these things,

as that I do not know German; but then German is not the only thing I amsupposed to know. History and ritual are the only things aristocrats are

supposed to know; and they don't know them.

Smile and Smile

I am not fed on turtle soup and Tokay because of my exquisite intimacy with

the style and idiom of Heine and Richter. The English governing class is fedon turtle soup and Tokay to represent the past, of which it is literally ignorant,



as I am of German irregular verbs; and to represent the religious traditions of

the State, when it does not know three words of theology, as I do not knowthree words of German.

This is the last insult offered by the proud to the humble. They rule them by

the smiling terror of an ancient secret. They smile and smile; but they haveforgotten the secret.

THE SYMBOLISM OF KRUPP

The curious position of the Krupp firm in the awful story developing around

us is not quite sufficiently grasped. There is a kind of academic clarity ofdefinition which does not see the proportions of things for which everything

falls within a definition, and nothing ever breaks beyond it. To this type ofmind (which is valuable when set to its special and narrow work) there is nosuch thing as an exception that proves the rule. If I vote for confiscating someusurer's millions I am doing, they say, precisely what I should be doing if I

took pennies out of a blind man's hat. They are both denials of the principle of

private property, and are equally right and equally wrong, according to our

view of that principle. I should find a great many distinctions to draw in sucha matter. First, I should say that taking a usurer's money by proper authority isnot robbery, but recovery of stolen goods. Second, I should say that even if

there were no such thing as personal property, there would still be such a thingas personal dignity, and different modes of robbery would diminish it in verydifferent ways. Similarly, there is a truth, but only a half-truth, in the saying

that all modern Powers alike rely on the Capitalist and make war on the lines

of Capitalism. It is true, and it is disgraceful. But it is not equally true andequally disgraceful. It is not true that Montenegro is as much ruled by

financiers as Prussia, just as it is not true that as many men in theKaiserstrasse, in Berlin, wear long knives in their belts as wear them in the

neighbourhood of the Black Mountain. It is not true that every peasant fromone of the old Russian communes is the immediate servant of a rich man, as is

every employee of Mr. Rockefeller. It is as false as the statement that no poor people in America can read or write. There is an element of Capitalism in all

modern countries, as there is an element of illiteracy in all modern countries.There are some who think that the number of our fellow-citizens who can sign

their names ought to comfort us for the extreme fewness of those who have

anything in the bank to sign it for, but I am not one of these.

In any case, the position of Krupp has certain interesting aspects. When we

talk of Army contractors as among the base but active actualities of war, we

commonly mean that while the contractor benefits by the war, the war, on the

whole, rather suffers by the contractor. We regard this unsoldierly middlemanwith disgust, or great anger, or contemptuous acquiescence, or commercial



dread and silence, according to our personal position and character. But we

nowhere think of him as having anything to do with fighting in the final sense.Those worthy and wealthy persons who employ women's labour at a few

shillings a week do not do it to obtain the best clothes for the soldiers, but tomake a sufficient profit on the worst. The only argument is whether such

clothes are just good enough for the soldiers, or are too bad for anybody or

anything. We tolerate the contractor, or we do not tolerate him; but no oneadmires him especially, and certainly no one gives him any credit for anysuccess in the war. Confessedly or unconfessedly we knock his profits, not

only off what goes to the taxpayer, but what goes to the soldier. We know the

Army will not fight any better, at least, because the clothes they wear werestitched by wretched women who could hardly see; or because their boots

were made by harassed helots, who never had time to think. In war-time it is

very widely confessed that Capitalism is not a good way of ruling a patriotic

or self-respecting people, and all sorts of other things, from strict Stateorganisation to quite casual personal charity, are hastily substituted for it. It isrecognised that the "great employer," nine times out of ten, is no more than

the schoolboy or the page who pilfers tarts and sweets from the dishes as theygo up and down. How angry one is with him depends on temperament, on thestage of the dinner — also on the number of tarts.

Now here comes in the real and sinister significance of Krupps. There are

many capitalists in Europe as rich, as vulgar, as selfish, as rootedly opposed toany fellowship of the fortunate and unfortunate. But there is no other capitalist

who claims, or can pretend to claim, that he has very appreciably helped theactivities of his people in war. I will suppose that Lipton did not deserve thevery severe criticisms made on his firm by Mr. Justice Darling; but, however

blameless he was, nobody can suppose that British soldiers would charge

better with the bayonet because they had some particular kind of groceriesinside them. But Krupp can make a plausible claim that the huge infernal

machines to which his country owes nearly all of its successes could onlyhave been produced under the equally infernal conditions of the modern

factory and the urban and proletarian civilisation. That is why the victory of

Germany would be simply the victory of Krupp, and the victory of Kruppwould be simply the victory of Capitalism. There, and there alone, Capitalismwould be able to point to something done successfully for a whole nation —

done (as it would certainly maintain) better than small free States or natural

democracies could have done it. I confess I think the modern Germans

morally second-rate, and I think that even war, when it is conducted mostsuccessfully by machinery, is second-rate war. But this second-rate war will

become not only the first but the only brand, if the cannon of Krupp should

conquer; and, what is very much worse, it will be the only intelligent answerthat any capitalist has yet given against our case that Capitalism is as wasteful

and as weak as it is certainly wicked. I do not fear any such finality, for I



happen to believe in the kind of men who fight best with bayonets and whose

fathers hammered their own pikes for the French Revolution.

THE TOWER OF BEBEL

Among the cloudy and symbolic stories in the beginning of the Bible there is

one about a tower built with such vertical energy as to take a hold on heaven,

but ruined and resulting only in a confusion of tongues. The story might beinterpreted in many ways — religiously, as meaning that spiritual insolence

starts all human separations; irreligiously, as meaning that the inhumanheavens grudge man his magnificent dream; or merely satirically as

suggesting that all attempts to reach a higher agreement always end in more

disagreement than there was before. It might be taken by the partially

intelligent Kensitite as a judgment on Latin Christians for talking Latin. Itmight be taken by the somewhat less intelligent Professor Harnack as a final

proof that all prehistoric humanity talked German. But when all was said, thesymbol would remain that a plain tower, as straight as a sword, as simple as a

lily, did nevertheless produce the deepest divisions that have been known

among men. In any case we of the world in revolt — Syndicalists, Socialists,Guild Socialists, or whatever we call ourselves — have no need to worry about

the scripture or the allegory. We have the reality. For whatever reason, what issaid to have happened to the people of Shinak has precisely and practically

happened to us.

None of us who have known Socialists (or rather, to speak more truthfully,

none of us who have been Socialists) can entertain the faintest doubt that a

fine intellectual sincerity lay behind what was called "L'Internationale." It wasreally felt that Socialism was universal like arithmetic. It was too true for

idiom or turn of phrase. In the formula of Karl Marx men could find that frigidfellowship which they find when they agree that two and two make four. It

was almost as broadminded as a religious dogma.

Yet this universal language has not succeeded, at a moment of crisis, inimposing itself on the whole world. Nay, it has not, at the moment of crisis,succeeded in imposing itself on its own principal champions. Herve is not

talking Economic Esperanto; he is talking French. Bebel is not talking

Economic Esperanto; he is talking German. Blatchford is not talkingEconomic Esperanto; he is talking English, and jolly good English, too. I do

not know whether French or Flemish was Vandervelde's nursery speech, but Iam quite certain he will know more of it after this struggle than he knew

before. In short, whether or no there be a new union of hearts, there has really

and truly been a new division of tongues.



How are we to explain this singular truth, even if we deplore it? I dismiss with

fitting disdain the notion that it is a mere result of military terrorism orsnobbish social pressure. The Socialist leaders of modern Europe are among

the most sincere men in history; and their Nationalist note in this affair hashad the ring of their sincerity. I will not waste time on the speculation that

Vandervelde is bullied by Belgian priests; or that Blatchford is frightened of

the horse-guards outside Whitehall. These great men support the enthusiasmof their conventional countrymen because they share it; and they share it

because there is (though perhaps only at certain great moments) such a thing

as pure democracy.

Timour the Tartar, I think, celebrated some victory with a tower built entirelyout of human skulls; perhaps he thought that would reach to heaven. But there

is no cement in such building; the veins and ligaments that hold humanity

together have long fallen away; the skulls will roll impotently at a touch; andten thousand more such trophies could only make the tower taller and crazier.

I think the modern official apparatus of "votes" is very like that totteringmonument. I think the Tartar "counted heads," like an electioneering agent.Sometimes when I have seen from the platform of some paltry party meeting

the rows and rows of grinning upturned faces, I have felt inclined to say, as

the poet does in the "The Vision of Sin" — "Welcome fellow-citizens, Hollowhearts and empty heads."

Not that the people were personally hollow or empty, but they had come on ahollow and empty business: to help the good Mr. Binks to strengthen theInsurance Act against the wicked Mr. Jinks who would only promise to fortify

the Insurance Act. That night it did not blow the democratic gale. Yet it can blow on these as on others; and when it does blow men learn many things. I,

for one, am not above learning them.

The Marxian dogma which simplifies all conflicts to the Class War is so muchnobler a thing than the nose-counting of the parliaments that one mustapologise for the comparison. And yet there is a comparison. When we used

to say that there were so many thousands of Socialists in Germany, we werecounting by skulls. When we said that the majority consisting of Proletarianswould be everywhere opposed to the minority, consisting of Capitalists, we

were counting by skulls. Why, yes; if all men's heads had been cut off from

the rest of them, as they were by the good sense and foresight of Timour theTartar; if they had no hearts or bellies to be moved; no hand that flies up to

ward off a weapon, no foot that can feel a familiar soil — if things were so theMarxian calculation would be not only complete but correct. As we know to-

day, the Marxian calculation is complete, but it is not correct.



Now, this is the answer to the questions of some kind critics, whose actual

words I have not within reach at the moment, about whether my democracymeant the rule of the majority over the minority. It means the rule of the

rule — the rule of the rule over the exception. When a nation finds a soul itclothes it with a body, and does verily act like one living thing. There is

nothing to be said about those who are out of it, except that they are out of it.

After talking about it in the abstract for decades, this is Democracy, and it ismarvellous in our eyes. It is not the difference between ninetynine persons anda hundred persons; it is one person — the people. I do not know or care how

many or how few of the Belgians like or dislike the pictures of Wiertz. They

could not be either justified or condemned by a mere majority of Belgians.But I am very certain that the defiance to Prussia did not come from a

majority of Belgians. It came from Belgium one and indivisible — atheists,

priests, princes of the blood, Frenchified shopkeepers, Flemish boors, men,

women, and children, and the sooner we understand that this sort of thing canhappen the better for us. For it is this spontaneous spiritual fellowship ofcommunities under certain conditions to which the four or five most

independent minds of Europe willingly bear witness to-day.

But is there no exception: is there no one faithful among the unfaithful found?

Is no great Socialist politician still untouched by the patriotism of the vulgar?Why, yes; the rugged Ramsay MacDonald, scarred with a hundred savage

fights against the capitalist parties, still lifts up his horny hand for peace. Whatfurther need have we of witnesses? I, for my part, am quite satisfied, and do

not doubt that Mr. MacDonald will be as industrious in damping downdemocracy in this form as in every other.

A REAL DANGER

Heaven forbid that I should once more wade in those swamps of logomachy

and tautology in which the old guard of the Determinists still seem to befloundering. The question of Fate and Free Will can never attain to aconclusion, though it may attain to a conviction. The shortest philosophic

summary is that both cause and choice are ultimate ideas within us, and that ifone man denies choice because it seems contrary to cause, the other man hasquite as much right to deny cause because it seems contrary to choice. The

shortest ethical summary is that Determinism either affects conduct or it does

not. If it does not, it is morally not worth preaching; if it does, it must affectconduct in the direction of impotence and submission. A writer in the

"Clarion" says that the reformer cannot help trying to reform, nor theConservative help his Conservatism. But suppose the reformer tries to reform

the Conservative and turn him into another reformer? Either he can, in which

case Determinism has made no difference at all, or he can't, in which case itcan only have made reformers more hopeless and Conservatives more



obstinate. And the shortest practical and political summary is that working

men, most probably, will soon be much too busy using their Free Will to stopto prove that they have got it. Nevertheless, I like to watch the Determinist in

the "Clarion" Cockpit every week, as busy as a squirrel — in a cage. But beingmyself a squirrel (leaping lightly from bough to bough) and preferring the

form of activity which occasionally ends in nuts, I should not intervene in the

matter even indirectly, except upon a practical point. And the point I have inmind is practical to the extent of deadly peril. It is another of the numerousnew ways in which the restless rich, now walking the world with an awful

insomnia, may manage to catch us napping.

Must Be a Mystery

There are two letters in the "Clarion" this week which in various ways interest

me very much. One is concerned to defend Darwin against the scientific revolt

against him that was led by Samuel Butler, and among other things it callsBernard Shaw a back number. Well, most certainly "The Origin of Species" is

a back number, in so far as any honest and interesting book ever can be; but in

pure philosophy nothing can be out of date, since the universe must be amystery even to the believer. There is, however, one condition of things in

which I do call it relevant to describe somebody as behind the times. That iswhen the man in question, thinking of some state of affairs that has passed

away, is really helping the very things he would like to hinder. The principles

cannot alter, but the problems can. Thus, I should call a man behind the timeswho, in the year 1872, pleaded for the peaceful German peasants against thetriumphant militarism of Napoleon. Or I should call a man out of date who, in

the year 1892, wished for a stronger Navy to compete with the Navy ofHolland, because it had once swept the sea and sailed up the Thames. And I

certainly call a man or a movement out of date that, in the year 1914, when wefew are fighting a giant machine, strengthened with all material wealth and

worked with all the material sciences, thinks that our chief danger is from an

excess of moral and religious responsibility. He reminds me of Mr. Snodgrass,who had the presence of mind to call out "Fire!" when Mr. Pickwick fell

through the ice.

The other letter consists of the usual wiredrawn argument for fatalism. Man

cannot imagine the universe being created, and therefore is "compelled by his

reason" to think the universe without beginning or end, which (I may remark)he cannot imagine either. But the letter ends with something much more

ominous than bad metaphysics. Here, in the middle of the "Clarion," in thecentre of a clean and combative democratic sheet, I meet again my deplorable

old acquaintance, the scientific criminologist. "The so-called evil-doer should

not be punished for his acts, but restrained." In forty-eight hours I could probably get a petition to that effect signed by millionaires. A short time ago a



Bill was introduced to hold irresponsible and "restrain" a whole new class of

people, who were "incapable of managing their affairs with prudence." Readthe supporters' names on the back of that Bill, and see what sort of democrats

they were.

Now, clearing our heads of what is called popular science (which means goingto sleep to a lullaby of long words), let us use our own brains a little, and askourselves what is the real difference between punishing a man and restraining

him. The material difference may be any or none; for punishment may be very

mild, and restraint may be very ruthless. The man, of course, must dislike oneas much as the other, or it would not be necessary to restrain him at all. And I

assure you he will get no great glow of comfort out of your calling himirresponsible after you have made him impotent. A man does not necessarily

feel more free and easy in a straight waistcoat than in a stone cell. The moral

difference is that a man can be punished for a crime because he is born acitizen; while he can be constrained because he is born a slave. But one

arresting and tremendous difference towers over all these doubtful or arguabledifferences. There is one respect, vital to all our liberties and all our lives, inwhich the new restraint would be different from the old punishment. It is of

this that the plutocrats will take advantage.

The Plain Difference

The perfectly plain difference is this. All punishment, even the most horrible, proceeds upon the assumption that the extent of the evil is known, and that a

certain amount of expiation goes with it. Even if you hang the man, youcannot hang him twice. Even if you burn him, you cannot burn him for amonth. And in the case of all ordinary imprisonments, the whole aim of free

institutions from the beginning of the world has been to insist that a man shall

be convicted of a definite crime and confined for a definite period. But the

moment you admit this notion of medical restraint, you must in fairness admitthat it may go on as long as the authorities choose to think (or say) that itought to go on. The man's punishment refers to the past, which is supposed to

have been investigated, and which, in some degree at least, has beeninvestigated. But his restraint refers to the future, which his doctors, keepers,and wardens have yet to investigate. The simple result will be that, in the

scientific Utopia of the "Clarion," men like Mann or Syme or Larkin will not

be put in prison because of what they have done. They will be kept in prison because of what they might do. Indeed, the builders of the new tyranny have

already come very near to avowing this scientific and futurist method. Whenthe lawyers tried to stop the "Suffragette" from appearing at all, they

practically said: "We do not know your next week's crime, because it isn't

committed yet; but we are scientifically certain you have the criminal type.



And by the sublime and unalterable laws of heredity, all your poor little

papers will inherit it."

This is a purely practical question; and that is why I insist on it, even in suchstrenuous times. The writers on the "Clarion" have a perfect right to think

Christianity is the foe of freedom, or even that the stupidity and tyranny of the present Government is due to the monkish mysticism of Lord Morley and Mr.John M. Robertson. They have a right to think the theory of Determinism as

true as Calvin thought it. But I do not like seeing them walk straight into the

enormous iron trap set open by the Capitalists, who find it convenient to makeour law even more lawless than it is. The rich men want a scientist to write

them a lettre de cachet as a doctor writes a prescription. And so they wish toseal up in a public gaol the scandals of a private asylum. Yes; the writers on

the "Clarion" are indeed claiming irresponsibility for human beings. But it is

the governments that will be irresponsible, not the governed.

But I will tell them one small secret in conclusion. There is nothing whateverwrong in the ancient and universal idea of Punishment — except that we are

not punishing the right people.

THE DREGS OF PURITANISM

One peculiarity of the genuine kind of enemy of the people is that his slightest

phrase is clamorous with all his sins. Pride, vain-glory, and hypocrisy seem present in his very grammar; in his very verbs or adverbs or prepositions, as

well as in what he says, which is generally bad enough. Thus I see that a Nonconformist pastor in Bromley has been talking about the pathetic little

presents of tobacco sent to the common soldiers. This is how he talks about it.He is reported as having said, "By the help of God, they wanted this cigarette

business stopped." How one could write a volume on that sentence, a greatthick volume called "The Decline of the English Middle Class." In taste, instyle, in philosophy, in feeling, in political project, the horrors of it are as

unfathomable as hell.

First, to begin with the trifle, note something slipshod and vague in the mereverbiage, typical of those who prefer a catchword to a creed. "This cigarette

business" might mean anything. It might mean Messrs. Salmon and

Gluckstein's business. But the pastor at Bromley will not interfere with that,for the indignation of his school of thought, even when it is sincere, always

instinctively and unconsciously swerves aside from anything that is rich and

powerful like the partners in a big business, and strikes instead something thatis poor and nameless like the soldiers in a trench. Nor does the expression

make clear who "they" are — whether the inhabitants of Britain or theinhabitants of Bromley, or the inhabitants of this one crazy tabernacle in



Bromley; nor is it evident how it is going to be stopped or who is being asked

to stop it. All these things are trifles compared to the more terrible offences ofthe phrase; but they are not without their social and historical interest. About

the beginning of the nineteenth century the wealthy Puritan class, generallythe class of the employers of labour, took a line of argument which was

narrow, but not nonsensical. They saw the relation of rich and poor quite

coldly as a contract, but they saw that a contract holds both ways. ThePuritans of the middle class, in short, did in some sense start talking andthinking for themselves. They are still talking. They have long ago left off

thinking. They talk about the loyalty of workmen to their employers, and God

knows what rubbish; and the first small certainty about the reverendgentleman whose sentence I have quoted is that his brain stopped working as a

clock stops, years and years ago.

Second, consider the quality of the religious literature! These people arealways telling us that the English translated Bible is sufficient training for

anyone in noble and appropriate diction; and so it is. Why, then, are they nottrained? They are always telling us that Bunyan, the rude Midland tinker, is asmuch worth reading as Chaucer or Spenser; and so he is. Why, then, have they

not read him? I cannot believe that anyone who had seen, even in a nightmare

of the nursery, Apollyon straddling over the whole breadth of the way couldreally write like that about a cigarette. By the help of God, they wanted this

cigarette business stopped. Therefore, with angels and archangels and thewhole company of Heaven, with St. Michael, smiter of Satan and Captain of

the Chivalry of God, with all the ardour of the seraphs and the flaming patience of the saints, we will have this cigarette business stopped. Where hasall the tradition of the great religious literatures gone to that a man should

come on such a bathos with such a bump?

Thirdly, of course, there is the lack of imaginative proportion, which rises intoa sort of towering blasphemy. An enormous number of live young men are

being hurt by shells, hurt by bullets, hurt by fever and hunger and horror of

hope deferred; hurt by lance blades and sword blades and bayonet blades

breaking into the bloody house of life. But Mr. Price (I think that's his name)is still anxious that they should not be hurt by cigarettes. That is the sort of

maniacal isolation that can be found in the deserts of Bromley. That cigarettes

are bad for the health is a very tenable opinion to which the minister is quiteentitled. If he happens to think that the youth of Bromley smoke too many

cigarettes, and that he has any influence in urging on them the unhealthiness

of the habit, I should not blame him if he gave sermons or lectures about it

(with magic-lantern slides), so long as it was in Bromley and about Bromley.Cigarettes may be bad for the health: bombs and bayonets and even barbedwire are not good for the health. I never met a doctor who recommended any

of them. But the trouble with this sort of man is that he cannot adjust himselfto the scale of things. He would do very good service if he would go among



the rich aristocratic ladies and tell them not to take drugs in a chronic sense, as

people take opium in China. But he would be doing very bad service if hewere to go among the doctors and nurses on the field and tell them not to give

drugs, as they give morphia in a hospital. But it is the whole hypothesis ofwar, it is its very nature and first principle, that the man in the trench is almost

as much a suffering and abnormal person as the man in the hospital. Hit or

unhit, conqueror or conquered, he is, by nature of the case, having less pleasure than is proper and natural to a man.

Fourth (for I need not dwell here on the mere diabolical idiocy that can regard beer or tobacco as in some way evil and unseemly in themselves), there is the

most important element in this strange outbreak; at least, the most dangerousand the most important for us. There is that main feature in the degradation of

the old middle class: the utter disappearance of its old appetite for liberty.

Here there is no question of whether the men are to smoke cigarettes, or thewomen choose to send cigarettes, or even that the officers or doctors choose to

allow cigarettes. The thing is to cease, and we may note one of the mostrecurrent ideas of the servile State: it is mentioned in the passive mood. Itmust be stopped, and we must not even ask who has stopped it!

THE TYRANNY OF BAD JOURNALISM

The amazing decision of the Government to employ methods quite alien toEngland, and rather belonging to the police of the Continent, probably arisesfrom the appearance of papers which are lucid and fighting, like the papers of

the Continent. The business may be put in many ways. But one way of putting

it is simply to say that a monopoly of bad journalism is resisting the possibility of good journalism. Journalism is not the same thing as literature;

but there is good and bad journalism, as there is good and bad literature, asthere is good and bad football. For the last twenty years or so the plutocrats

who govern England have allowed the English nothing but bad journalism.Very bad journalism, simply considered as journalism.

It always takes a considerable time to see the simple and central fact aboutanything. All sorts of things have been said about the modern Press, especially

the Yellow Press; that it is Jingo or Philistine or sensational or wrongly

inquisitive or vulgar or indecent or trivial; but none of these have anythingreally to do with the point.

The point about the Press is that it is not what it is called. It is not the "popular

Press." It is not the public Press. It is not an organ of public opinion. It is aconspiracy of a very few millionaires, all sufficiently similar in type to agree

on the limits of what this great nation (to which we belong) may know aboutitself and its friends and enemies. The ring is not quite complete; there are



old-fashioned and honest papers: but it is sufficiently near to completion to

produce on the ordinary purchaser of news the practical effects of a corner anda monopoly. He receives all his political information and all his political

marching orders from what is by this time a sort of half-conscious secretsociety, with very few members, but a great deal of money.

This enormous and essential fact is concealed for us by a number of legendsthat have passed into common speech. There is the notion that the Press is

flashy or trivial because it is popular. In other words, an attempt is made to

discredit democracy by representing journalism as the natural literature ofdemocracy. All this is cold rubbish. The democracy has no more to do with

the papers than it has with the peerages. The millionaire newspapers arevulgar and silly because the millionaires are vulgar and silly. It is the

proprietor, not the editor, not the sub-editor, least of all the reader, who is

pleased with this monotonous prairie of printed words. The same slander ondemocracy can be noticed in the case of advertisements. There is many a

tender old Tory imagination that vaguely feels that our streets would be hungwith escutcheons and tapestries, if only the profane vulgar had not hung themwith advertisements of Sapolio and Sunlight Soap. But advertisement does not

come from the unlettered many. It comes from the refined few. Did you ever

hear of a mob rising to placard the Town Hall with proclamations in favour ofSapolio? Did you ever see a poor, ragged man laboriously drawing and

painting a picture on the wall in favour of Sunlight Soap — simply as a labourof love? It is nonsense; those who hang our public walls with ugly pictures are

the same select few who hang their private walls with exquisite and expensive pictures. The vulgarisation of modern life has come from the governing class;from the highly educated class. Most of the people who have posters in

Camberwell have peerages at Westminster. But the strongest instance of all is

that which has been unbroken until lately, and still largely prevails; theghastly monotony of the Press.

Then comes that other legend; the notion that men like the masters of the

Newspaper Trusts "give the people what they want." Why, it is the whole aim

and definition of a Trust that it gives the people what it chooses. In the olddays, when Parliaments were free in England, it was discovered that one

courtier was allowed to sell all the silk, and another to sell all the sweet wine.

A member of the House of Commons humorously asked who was allowed tosell all the bread. I really tremble to think what that sarcastic legislator would

have said if he had been put off with the modern nonsense about "gauging the

public taste." Suppose the first courtier had said that, by his shrewd, self-made

sense, he had detected that people had a vague desire for silk; and even adeep, dim human desire to pay so much a yard for it! Suppose the secondcourtier said that he had, by his own rugged intellect, discovered a general

desire for wine: and that people bought his wine at his price — when they



could buy no other! Suppose a third courtier had jumped up and said that

people always bought his bread when they could get none anywhere else.

Well, that is a perfect parallel. "After bread, the need of the people isknowledge," said Danton. Knowledge is now a monopoly, and comes through

to the citizens in thin and selected streams, exactly as bread might comethrough to a besieged city. Men must wish to know what is happening,whoever has the privilege of telling them. They must listen to the messenger,

even if he is a liar. They must listen to the liar, even if he is a bore. The

official journalist for some time past has been both a bore and a liar; but it wasimpossible until lately to neglect his sheets of news altogether. Lately the

capitalist Press really has begun to be neglected; because its bad journalismwas overpowering and appalling. Lately we have really begun to find out that

capitalism cannot write, just as it cannot fight, or pray, or marry, or make a

joke, or do any other stricken human thing. But this discovery has been quiterecent. The capitalist newspaper was never actually unread until it was

actually unreadable.

If you retain the servile superstition that the Press, as run by the capitalists, is popular (in any sense except that in which dirty water in a desert is popular),

consider the case of the solemn articles in praise of the men who own

newspapers — men of the type of Cadbury or Harmsworth, men of the type ofthe small club of millionaires. Did you ever hear a plain man in a tramcar ortrain talking about Carnegie's bright genial smile or Rothschild's simple, easy

hospitality? Did you ever hear an ordinary citizen ask what was the opinion ofSir Joseph Lyons about the hopes and fears of this, our native land? These fewsmall-minded men publish, papers to praise themselves. You could no more

get an intelligent poor man to praise a millionaire's soul, except for hire, than

you could get him to sell a millionaire's soap, except for hire. And I repeat

that, though there are other aspects of the matter of the new plutocratic raid,one of the most important is mere journalistic jealousy. The Yellow Press is

bad journalism: and wishes to stop the appearance of good journalism.

There is no average member of the public who would not prefer to have Lloyd

George discussed as what he is, a Welshman of genius and ideals, strangely

fascinated by bad fashion and bad finance, rather than discussed as whatneither he nor anyone else ever was, a perfect democrat or an utterly

detestable demagogue. There is no reader of a daily paper who would not feel

more concern — and more respect — for Sir Rufus Isaacs as a man who has

been a stockbroker, than as a man who happens to be Attorney-General. Thereis no man in the street who is not more interested in Lloyd George'sinvestments than in his Land Campaign. There is no man in the street who

could not understand (and like) Rufus Isaacs as a Jew better than he can

possibly like him as a British statesman. There is no sane journalist alive whowould say that the official account of Marconis would be better "copy" than



the true account that such papers as this have dragged out. We have

committed one crime against the newspaper proprietor which he will neverforgive. We point out that his papers are dull. And we propose to print some

papers that are interesting.

THE POETRY OF THE REVOLUTION

Everyone but a consistent and contented capitalist, who must be something pretty near to a Satanist, must rejoice at the spirit and success of the Battle of

the Buses. But one thing about it which happens to please me particularly wasthat it was fought, in one aspect at least, on a point such as the plutocratic fool

calls unpractical. It was fought about a symbol, a badge, a thing attended with

no kind of practical results, like the flags for which men allow themselves to

fall down dead, or the shrines for which men will walk some hundreds ofmiles from their homes. When a man has an eye for business, all that goes on

on this earth in that style is simply invisible to him. But let us be charitable tothe eye for business; the eye has been pretty well blacked this time.

But I wish to insist here that it is exactly what is called the unpractical part of

the thing that is really the practical. The chief difference between men and theanimals is that all men are artists; though the overwhelming majority of us are

bad artists. As the old fable truly says, lions do not make statues; even the

cunning of the fox can go no further than the accomplishment of leaving anexact model of the vulpine paw: and even that is an accomplishment which hewishes he hadn't got. There are Chryselephantine statues, but no purely

elephantine ones. And, though we speak in a general way of an elephant

trumpeting, it is only by human blandishments that he can be induced to playthe drum. But man, savage or civilised, simple or complex always desires to

see his own soul outside himself; in some material embodiment. He alwayswishes to point to a table in a temple, or a cloth on a stick, or a word on a

scroll, or a badge on a coat, and say: "This is the best part of me. If need be, itshall be the rest of me that shall perish." This is the method which seems so

unbusinesslike to the men with an eye to business. This is also the method bywhich battles are won.

The Symbolism of the Badge

The badge on a Trade Unionist's coat is a piece of poetry in the genuine, lucid,

and logical sense in which Milton defined poetry (and he ought to know)

when he said that it was simple, sensuous, and passionate. It is simple, because many understand the word "badge," who might not even understand

the word "recognition." It is sensuous, because it is visible and tangible; it isincarnate, as all the good Gods have been; and it is passionate in this perfectly



practical sense, which the man with an eye to business may some day learn

more thoroughly than he likes, that there are men who will allow you to crossa word out in a theoretical document, but who will not allow you to pull a big

button off their bodily clothing, merely because you have more money thanthey have. Now I think it is this sensuousness, this passion, and, above all, this

simplicity that are most wanted in this promising revolt of our time. For this

simplicity is perhaps the only thing in which the best type of recentrevolutionists have failed. It has been our sorrow lately to salute the sunset ofone of the very few clean and incorruptible careers in the most corruptible

phase of Christendom. The death of Quelch naturally turns one's thoughts to

those extreme Marxian theorists, who, whatever we may hold about their philosophy, have certainly held their honour like iron. And yet, even in this

instant of instinctive reverence, I cannot feel that they were poetical enough,

that is childish enough, to make a revolution. They had all the audacity needed

for speaking to the despot; but not the simplicity needed for speaking to thedemocracy. They were always accused of being too bitter against thecapitalist. But it always seemed to me that they were (quite unconsciously, of

course) much too kind to him. They had a fatal habit of using long words,even on occasions when he might with propriety have been described in veryshort words. They called him a Capitalist when almost anybody in

Christendom would have called him a cad. And "cad" is a word from the

poetic vocabulary indicating rather a general and powerful reaction of theemotions than a status that could be defined in a work of economics. The

capitalist, asleep in the sun, let such long words crawl all over him, like somany long, soft, furry caterpillars. Caterpillars cannot sting like wasps. And,

in repeating that the old Marxians have been, perhaps, the best and bravestmen of our time, I say also that they would have been better and braver still ifthey had never used a scientific word, and never read anything but fairy tales.

The Beastly Individualist

Suppose I go on to a ship, and the ship sinks almost immediately; but I (likethe people in the Bab Ballads), by reason of my clinging to a mast, upon a

desert island am eventually cast. Or rather, suppose I am not cast on it, but amkept bobbing about in the water, because the only man on the island is whatsome call an Individualist, and will not throw me a rope; though coils of ropeof the most annoying elaboration and neatness are conspicuous beside him as

he stands upon the shore. Now, it seems to me, that if, in my efforts to shout atthis fellow-creature across the crashing breakers, I call his position the

"insularistic position," and my position "the semi-amphibian position," muchvaluable time may be lost. I am not an amphibian. I am a drowning man. He is

not an insularist, or an individualist. He is a beast. Or rather, he is worse than

any beast can be. And if, instead of letting me drown, he makes me promise,while I am drowning, that if I come on shore it shall be as his bodily slave,



having no human claims henceforward forever, then, by the whole theory and

practice of capitalism, he becomes a capitalist, he also becomes a cad.

Now, the language of poetry is simpler than that of prose; as anyone can seewho has read what the old-fashioned protestant used to call confidently "his"

Bible. And, being simpler, it is also truer; and, being truer, it is also fiercer.And, for most of the infamies of our time, there is really nothing plain enough,except the plain language of poetry. Take, let us say, the ease of the recent

railway disaster, and the acquittal of the capitalists' interest. It is not a

scientific problem for us to investigate. It is a crime committed before oureyes; committed, perhaps, by blind men or maniacs, or men hypnotised, or

men in some other ways unconscious; but committed in broad daylight, so thatthe corpse is bleeding on our door-step. Good lives were lost, because good

lives do not pay; and bad coals do pay. It seems simply impossible to get any

other meaning out of the matter except that. And, if in human history there beanything simple and anything horrible, it seems to have been present in this

matter. If, even after some study and understanding of the old religious passions which were the resurrection of Europe, we cannot endure the extremeinfamy of witches and heretics literally burned alive — well, the people in this

affair were quite as literally burned alive. If, when we have really tried to

extend our charity beyond the borders of personal sympathy, to all thecomplexities of class and creed, we still feel something insolent about the

triumphant and acquitted man who is in the wrong, here the men who are inthe wrong are triumphant and acquitted. It is no subject for science. It is a

subject for poetry. But for poetry of a terrible sort.

End of Project Gutenberg's Usurers and other Essays, by G. K. Chesterton

usurers and other essays - chesterton

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